“Wiwaste,” he said, and his voice was
low,
“Let it be as you will, for Wakawa’s tongue
Has spoken no promise;—his lips are slow,
And the love of a father is deep and strong.
Be happy, Micunksee;[29] the flames are gone—
They flash no more in the northern sky.
See the smile on the face of the watching moon;
No more will the fatal, red arrows fly;
For the singing shafts of my warriors sped
To the bad spirit’s bosom and laid him dead,
And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.
Go—sleep in the robe that you won to-day,
And dream of your hunter—the brave Chaske.”
Light was her heart as she turned away;
It sang like the lark in the skies of May.
The round moon laughed, but a lone, red star,[30]
As she turned to the teepee and entered in,
Fell flashing and swift in the sky afar,
Like the polished point of a javelin.
Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw
Of the crouching listener, Harpstina.
Wiwaste, wrapped in her robe and sleep,
Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep,
As they rode on the winds in the frosty air;
But she heard the voice of her hunter fair;
For a fairy spirit with silent fingers
The curtains drew from the land of dreams;
And lo in her teepee her lover lingers;
In his tender eyes all the love-light beams,
And his voice is the music of mountain streams.
And then with her round, brown arms she pressed
His phantom form to her throbbing breast,
And whispered the name, in her happy sleep,
Of her Hohe hunter so fair and far:
And then she saw in her dreams the deep
Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star;
Then stealthily crouching under the trees,
By the light of the moon, the Kan-e-ti-dan,
[31]
The little, wizened, mysterious man,
With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.
Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32]
And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard;
And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw
The hateful visage of Harpstina.
But waking she murmured—“And what
are these——
The flap of wings and the falling star,
The wailing spirit that’s never at ease,
The little man crouching under the trees,
And the hateful visage of Harpstina?
My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze,
And none can tell what the omens are——
Save the beautiful dream of my love afar
In the happy land of the tall Hohe——
My handsome hunter—my brave Chaske.”
[Illustration: BUFFALO CHASE]
"Ta-tanka! Ta-tanka!"[33] the hunters
cried,
With a joyous shout at the break of dawn
And darkly lined on the white hill-side,
A herd of bison went marching on
Through the drifted snow like a caravan.
Swift to their ponies the hunters sped,
And dashed away on the hurried chase.
The wild steeds scented the game ahead,