CHAPTER V.

A short time after the events we have noticed, a young and slight-looking Sioux warrior entered one of the villages of that nation. He was a stranger and alone. This was enough to insure him a hospitable reception. On approaching the lodges which were nearest him, he seemed to hesitate as to what course he should pursue as regards making himself known. In the mean time his appearance had attracted a good deal of attention.

His limbs were slight but well formed, his figure denoting agility rather than strength. His dress was new and handsomely ornamented; his leggins were of very fine deer-skin, dressed so as to be white and soft, and these, as well as his coat, were richly embroidered with porcupine quills. He had no blanket, nor were there any war-eagle feathers in his head; his pipe, made of an earthen material, was large and heavy. He was without arms of any kind: this was the most remarkable feature in his appearance.

He was pale, as if he had been ill, and there was at times an expression of wildness, almost amounting to ferocity, in his appearance. He advanced towards a lodge outside of which stood the family; they spoke to him at once, telling him to sit down and rest himself. One of the women seeing his mocassin was torn, untied it, saying she would mend it.

Before asking him his name or errand, they insisted upon his eating, knowing from his features and dress he was a Sioux.

His feet they found blistered and inflamed. The women of the lodge got some herbs, laid them in cold water, and applied them to the inflamed parts.

They gave him wild rice, in an earthen bowl of a kind manufactured by themselves, the art being now lost. They were then destitute of metallic vessels of any kind.

The young warrior, after he had eaten, proceeded to give an account of himself. He said he had come a great distance in search of an uncle who had suddenly disappeared from among them. He was a very important man among them, famous for his wisdom, and for knowing all the history of their people, the Mendewakantonwau Dacotas. He could always tell them the year when buffalo would be the most plentiful; he could direct them to the very spot where the largest herds could be found.

His people, he said, lived on the banks of the Minesota; the mouth of this river, his uncle said, lay immediately over the centre of the earth, and under the centre of the heavens: the Great Spirit had ordered this, that they might know they were his favourite people, superior to all other nations.

All these things his uncle had learned in dreams; and often he spoke of them to the young people, that they might be proud of their country, and might remember who was their Great Father and friend.

On one occasion he had assembled the young people, and told them of the bloody battles they had fought with the Sacs and Foxes and other nations. Some of the Dacota bands had been destroyed by them, but they had been saved because they were under the centre of the heavens, and the eye of the Great Spirit was always upon them. They knew more too than the other bands, and were in consequence much better off.

On that occasion he had talked nearly all night, and after that they all retired to rest. On awaking, the old warrior had disappeared, and since then had never been seen. Whether Unk-ta-he had drawn him into the deep, or Chat-o-tee-dah, the god of the woods, had drawn him under the earth, or the Great Spirit had taken him, no one knew. He was no more among them.

The young man went on to say he had had a dream, in which he was told to array himself in new clothing, and to go in search of his uncle. He was forbidden to take arms or provisions of any kind; and in a short time he would have an interview with his uncle. This he had done in spite of the objections of his friends, who urged him at least to take his bow and arrows, but he had refused to do so, preferring to follow implicitly the directions he had received in his dream. He had been in the woods a long time, and was almost despairing, when one night he fell into a deep sleep, and his uncle stood before him; not old and wrinkled and time-worn, as he remembered him, but erect and firm. His voice was strong too, and he could have been heard a long way off, he spoke so loud and distinctly.

He said that the Sioux need not any more look for his return, for that in the far-off country where he lived, he had none of those weaknesses and pains to contend with, which are constantly among the aged on earth: he had wanted to try the bravery of his young nephew, to see whether or not he would have courage to do as he was told. He was glad he had done so, for now he would be a favourite of the gods, who delighted in courageous acts. He directed him as to what route he should take, telling him of everything that would happen to him on his way to the village, and charged him to say to them, that he should be furnished with a lance, bow, and arrows, and also have given to him a comrade, and be allowed to stay in the band. The Indians were overcome with admiration at the courage shown in these adventures, and they immediately presented him with the arms he required, and in every other way gratified his wishes.

He accepted these things proudly, as a right, rather than a favour; this bearing made him still more popular with his new friends. One of them came forward and told him he should have his oldest daughter--pointing to the well-pleased maiden--for a wife: the stranger said he had promised his uncle he would not marry until he had killed three Winnebagoes, and wore the feathers of honour he had thus earned.

He continued to grow in their favour, and was preparing to accompany some of their braves on a war-party, when, one morning, a party of Sioux approached the village. One of the men was much taller and larger than all the rest, his eagle feathers towering above their heads. The hospitable people pressed forward to welcome them: and when they were rested, and had eaten and smoked, the chief missed their stranger friend. He was not to be seen; when they found he did not return to them, they told his strange story to Fiery Man and his band.

The wretched man knew it was his wife who had thus baffled him. He went on his way, but some evil spirit stood between him and the accomplishment of his purpose. She was not to be given to his vengeance or his love. There was happiness yet in store for White Moon.