CHAPTER IV.

Fiery Man and the large party of hunters came in sight of their home on the evening of the same day. They had brought a large number of buffalo, and were glad to reach the vicinity of their village, where their wives and other women came forward to relieve them of their burden. Merry work it was to them on this occasion, until they learned some of the hunters were missing.

Fiery Man looked to see his wife and child among them, and was disappointed and irritated at not seeing them; but he remembered White Moon was always backward in joining these noisy parties, and thus he accounted for her absence.

His tall figure was slightly clad, for the weather was warm--in his right hand he held a spear, and on its top was a scalp recently taken. He strode on without waiting to explain the occasion of this, only thinking of his wife and son. He did not miss his sister, though he might well have done so, for she was always ready with her strong arm to assist the hunters, and her loud voice to give directions to the women.

There was a great deal of confusion as they entered the village, for the absence of the three hunters had been accounted for, though not by Fiery Man, who had passed forward towards his lodge.

The hunters, enthusiastic with their success, (for the number of buffalo they had killed was unusually great,) were surprised by a party of Iroquois, and in the sudden terror three of the Sioux, who had laid down their arms, intending to sleep, were killed and scalped. These Iroquois had come from a great distance; their villages were in the western part of New York. They were then in the height of their power, and constantly performed exploits that astonished other Indian nations.

But that a small party should have travelled four hundred leagues, living by chance, surrounded by their enemies; that they should venture among so powerful a people with such an object, is indeed remarkable; that they should have been successful, is still more so.

They lost one of their party. Fiery Man pursued them, with some others, as they endeavoured to make their escape, and killed one, whose scalp adorned his spear.

The lamentations of the families whose relatives had been killed, their affectionate but melancholy reception of their dead bodies--for they had been wrapped in skins and brought home--the loud talking of those engaged in caring for the immense quantities of buffalo-meat and the valuable skins,--all these were unnoticed and indeed unheard by Fiery Man.

Even his stout heart quailed before the silent and gloomy appearance of his lodge. There was not even an evidence of habitation.

The lodge on which White Moon had been engaged lay heaped up near it; but there was no one there to welcome him.

He threw up the door and looked in; then started almost affrighted at what he saw. His sister lay dead--and the only creature near her was the small dog that had been always by her side during life. He could not mistake the horrible symptoms,--the fallen jaw, the dark-looking blood, the face calm and composed in its expression, as it never had been in life.

He turned again from the lodge to seek his wife and child,--the former with her timid and almost fearful salutation, the latter with his merry infant laugh, as he reached forth his hands to be taken close to his father's heart.

He looked around among the groups talking here and there. They were gazing at him, with doubt and consternation in every countenance; for who would dare tell him of all?--who would expose himself to the violence of his wrath?--who but feared to see that iron frame bowed with the tale of horror he must hear?

He hastened towards them, and shook Harpstinah roughly by the arm. "Where is my wife?--my child? Speak!" he said, as the woman, in her fright, seemed to have lost the power of speech.

An old man, who had not accompanied the hunting party, on account of his age, came forward. "There is your son," he said, pointing to the burial-ground. "Your wife left him asleep, and your sister--"

Harpstinah, having recovered herself, interrupted him: he had but a confused notion of the state of things. She told Fiery Man all the circumstances, even to her going to the lodge, drawn thither by the continual crying of the dog, and finding his sister there in her death-pangs. She had tried to make Harpstinah comprehend a message to her brother, but had expired with the effort. Previous to that she had told several persons that White Moon had killed her child, but no one believed it. The affectionate care of the mother was too well known; besides, the girl who had been left in charge of her, said the infant had awakened a short time after White Moon had left, and had then fallen asleep again.

White Moon had been seen as she hurried from the village, but no one had seen her return. Harpstinah had heard angry words passing between them, but did not know that anything more serious had occurred, until some time after, when she entered the lodge, as she had before described. All presumed it must have been the act of White Moon, as she had expressed previously her intention of remaining at home, in order to finish her lodge.

This was the substance of the intelligence, to which Fiery Man listened with an ashy countenance and a trembling frame. His wife, whom he had so loved--his boy, the noble, healthy child, whose growth he had watched day by day! As he bent forward to listen, large tears rested on his cheek. The women moved off affrighted at the spectacle, that tears, such as women shed, should be seen there.

There was one who still remained beside him. Fiery Man had not heard the charge brought against his wife of the murder of her child. So stricken was he, that he only heard and felt that they were gone. The Fawn still remained beside him: she had loved Fiery Man, and had hoped to be his wife. She waited to speak when he should arouse from the first stupor of his grief. He turned to go, he knew not where; he heard his name called, and saw the Fawn beside him. "Your sister said that White Moon had never loved you, and was now revenged; that you had torn her from all she had loved; that even her old mother had wept, and asked you to leave her with her, but in vain; and it was for this White Moon had killed your child, that you might have sorrow too."

Then came back the colour to the bronzed cheek of Fiery Man, and the flashing to his eye. Then did he stand erect, like one that had never known grief--then did love change to bitter hatred. The wife of his bosom was his worst enemy. There were no more tears, but loud threats of vengeance--no trembling, but firm purposes of revenge.

He went again to the lodge, to look at his sister's body. He left her, and stood by the grave of his child. He laid his hand upon the little body, and stood thus while he decided what to do. He shouted for the young men, and told them to go and hunt for his wife, and bring her back to him.

It was fearful to see the paroxysms of his hot anger. He lay down on the grass near his child; he rested, but not with sleep. He sought his wife through the night, but in vain. He went into the thick forests; he remembered Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods, was his friend; he prayed to the god; he sacrificed to the wakeen-stone; but still he was unsuccessful.

He knew neither sleep nor rest until the evening of the next day, when he was forced to yield to his overtaxed condition. There did he stand, by the Laughing Waters, where she had stood. The White Moon was making her way, slowly and sadly, but clinging to life--full of grief, but fearing the avenger--living on the berries of the woods, and sleeping where the red deer and its young lie down to rest.