Many, it may well be supposed, were the offers of marriage made to the beautiful Leelinau.  Innumerable were the legs of venison, and choice pieces of bear’s meat, which the mothers of the young hunters presented for acceptance at her lodge, being careful to mention whose skill in the chase procured them, but in vain did they look for the bowl of succatash or embroidered moccasins—­the products of woman’s labor—­in token that their gifts were pleasing to the coy beauty.  In vain, when the shades of evening fell, the softly breathed flute lamented in melancholy tones her cruelty.  In vain, with tasteful hand, the sighing lover painted his face and person to heighten his attractions and draw attention.  The insensible Leelinau relished not the venison or bear’s meat, nor would she listen to the flute, or look often at the painted suitors.

Among her admirers none was more deeply smitten by the power of her charms nor cherished a truer love than Magisaunikwa or Wampum-hair, so called from the gentleness of his disposition and love of peace.  He was only a few years the senior of the maiden, and of an obscure family compared with that of the famous Aishkwagon-ai-bee.  But love levels all distinctions, and, impelled by an influence he could not withstand, he dared to aspire to the hand of Leelinau.  Besides, there was one superiority he enjoyed which made the claim less presumptuous.  Young as he was no hunter of the tribe could be compared with him in skill or daring.  Other lodges might be destitute, but there was always abundance of meat in that of Magisaunikwa and those of his friends.  Happy, thought most of the girls, would she be who should lie in the bosom of the young hunter, and cook his food.

But notwithstanding his devotion, Leelinau would not accept his gifts.  Still he fancied he had made some impression.  She would listen to his conversation by the light of the evening star, though whenever he hinted at his passion, she would hastily retire; and twice or thrice he had caught her eyes fixed on him, when she thought herself unobserved.  Hope lives on scanty aliment, and the young man did not despair.

Aishkwagon-ai-bee had noticed the liking of Magisaunikwa for his daughter, and was not displeased.  The noble youth had found favor in his eyes, and he did not disdain his alliance.  There was only a single cause of hesitation in his mind.  Wampum-hair had never been on a war-path, and had always shown a disinclination to shed human blood.  Yet his courage was undoubted.  None encountered with more audacity the panther and the bear, and several were the lives he had saved at the hazard of his own.  A successful war expedition only was necessary to complete his claims to the highest honors.  Save the bloody scalp, no ornament was lacking in his wigwam.

“Magisaunikwa,” said the Sachem, “the fire of your eyes melts not the snow around the heart of Leelinau, and it is because she looks upon your hands and sees they were never painted with the blood of an enemy.”