CHAPTER XVIII
The snow was falling fast, the early snow of northern America. Otaitsa stole forth from the shelter of the great lodge, passed amongst the huts around, and out into the fields through the opening in the palisade. She was going where she wished not her steps to be traced, and she knew that the fast falling snow would speedily fill up every footprint. Quietly and gracefully she glided on till she reached the edge of the deep wood, and then along a little frequented trail, till, at the distance of about half a mile, her eyes, keenly bent forward, perceived something brown, crouching, still and motionless, under cover of a young hemlock, the branches of which nearly swept the ground. As the Blossom approached, a head, covered with glossy black hair rolled up behind, was raised above a little bush which partly hid the woman's figure; and, coming nearer, the girl asked, in a low voice, "Did he pass?"
"No," answered the young maiden to whom she spoke. "It was Apukwa, the medicine man."
Otaitsa waved her head sadly to and fro, saying, "Now I understand;" and then, speaking to the girl again, she said: "Now back to the Castle, through the bush, then to the other trail, and then home."
Her own walk was to be longer; and on she went, with the same gliding step, till, about half a mile farther, she turned a little out of the path to the right, and there, concealed amongst the bushes, she found an old woman of her tribe, to whom she put the same question, and received nearly the same answer.
"Thou art cold, my mother," said Otaitsa, unfastening her mantle, and throwing it over the old woman. "Get thee back with the step of a mole, through the most covered ways thou canst find. How far on is the other?"
"More than an hour," replied the woman, "close at the foot of the rocks."
Otaitsa made no reply, but hastened forward to a spot where some abrupt but not very elevated crags rose up out of the midst of the wood. For a moment there seemed no one there; and the trail at that spot divided into two, one running to the right and the other to the left, at the very base of the rocks. Otaitsa gazed cautiously around. She did not dare to utter a sound; but at length her eye fell upon a large mass of stone, tumbled from the bank above, crested and feathered with some sapling chestnuts. It seemed a place fit for concealment, and advancing over some broken fragments, she was approaching carefully, when again a head was raised and a hand stretched out, beckoning to her.
Still she trod her way cautiously, taking care not to set her foot on prominent points, where the trace might remain, and contriving, as far as possible, to make each bush and scattered tree a screen. At length she reached her companion's place of concealment, and crouched down behind the rock by the side of a beautiful young woman a few years older than herself.
"Has he passed?" asked Otaitsa. "Which way did he take?"
"To the east," replied the other; "to the rising sun; but it was not the brother of the Snake. It was Apukwa the Bulrush, and he had a wallet with him, but no tomahawk."
"How long is it since he passed?" asked the Blossom, in the same low tone which they had hitherto used.
"While the crow could fly out of sight," answered the young woman. "Has my husband yet come back?"
"Not so," replied Otaitsa. "But let us both go, for thou art weary for thy home, my sister, and I am now satisfied. Their secret is mine."
"How so?" inquired the other. "Canst thou see through the rock with thy bright eyes, Blossom?"
"The cunning medicine man goes not to pray to his Manito," answered Otaitsa, "nor to converse with his Hawenneyo. Neither does he wander forth to fulfil his fasts in the solitude to the east. Yet he will find no dry deer's flesh there, my sister, nor any of the firewater he loves so well. But away there, where I have gathered many a strawberry when I was young, there is a deep rift in the rock, where you may walk a hundred paces on flat ground, with the high cliffs all around you. The wildcat cannot spring up, and the deer winks as he looks down. It has but a narrow entrance, for the jaws of the rock are half open; and I know now where they have hid my brother. That is enough, for this night, to Otaitsa."
"And what wilt thou do next?" asked her companion.
"Nay, I know not," answered the Blossom. "The sky grows darker; the night is coming on, and we must follow the setting sun if we would not have Apukwa see us. We have yet time, for the gloomy place he goes to is two thousand paces farther. Come. Be assured, dear sister, I will call for thy aid when it is needful, and thou wilt as soon refuse it as the flower refuses honey to the bee. Step carefully in the low places, that they see not the tracks of thy little feet."
Thus saying, Otaitsa led the way from their place of concealment with a freer air, for she knew that Apukwa had far to go, but with as cautious a tread as ever, lest returning before the sun had fully fallen, he should see the footprints in the snow.
They had been gone some ten minutes when, creeping silently down along the trail from the east, the medicine man appeared at the farthest corner of the rock, within sight; but he was not alone. The Indian whom they called the brother of the Snake was with him. The latter, however, remained at the point where he could see both ways, while Apukwa came swiftly forward. At the spot where the trail separated he paused and looked earnestly down upon the ground, bending his head almost to his knees. Then he seemed to track something along the trail toward the Indian Castle; and then, turning back, walked slowly up to the rock, following exactly the path by which the two women had returned. At length he seemed satisfied, and quickening his pace he rejoined his companion. "Thou art right, brother," he said. "There were two. What dimmed thine eyes, that thou canst not tell who they were?"
"I was far," answered the other, "and there is shadow upon shadow."
"Was not one Otaitsa?" asked the medicine man, slowly. "Could the brother of the Snake fail to know the Blossom he loves to look at?"
"If my eyes were not hidden, it was not she," replied his companion. "Never did I see the great sachem's daughter go out, even when the sun has most fire, without her mantle round her. This woman had none."
"Which woman?" asked Apukwa. "Thou saidst there were two."
"One came, two went," replied the other Oneida, "but the second could not be the Blossom, for she was tall. The other might have been, but she had no mantle, and seemed less than Black Eagle's daughter--more like Roya, the daughter of the Bear. What were the prints of the moccasins?"
"The snow falls fast, and covers up men's steps, as time covers the traditions of our fathers," said the medicine man. "They were not clear, brother. One was bigger than the other, but that was all I could see. Yet I scent the Blossom in this thing, my brother. The worshipper of the God of the palefaces would save the life of the paleface had he made milk of the blood of her brother. She may love the boy too well, as her father loved the white woman. She has been often there, at the lodge of Prevost, with the paleface priest or her father--very often--and she has stayed long. That trail she likes to follow better than any other, and the Black Eagle may think that his Blossom is a flower fit to grow by the lodge of the Yengees and too beautiful for the redman. Has not my brother dreamed such dreams? Has not his Manito whispered to him such things?"
"He has," answered the brother of the Snake, in a tone of stern meaning, "and my tomahawk is sharp; but we must take counsel on this with our brethren, to make sure that there be no double tongues amongst us. How else should these women see our tracks, when we have covered them with leaves?"
It is probable that this last expression was used figuratively, not actually to imply that a precaution very common among Indians had been taken in this case, but that every care had been used to prevent a discovery by the women of the nation of any part of the proceedings in regard to Walter Prevost.
"My tongue is single," said the brother of the Snake, "and if I had a double tongue, would I use it when my enemy is under my scalping-knife? Besides, am I not more than thy brother?" and, baring his arm, he pointed with his finger to that small blue stripe which Woodchuck had exhibited on his own arm to Lord H---- in Albany.
"My brother hears with the ears of the hare," said Apukwa. "The Honontkoh never betray each other. But there are young men with us who are not of our order. Some are husbands, some are lovers; and with women they are women. Yet we must be watchful not to scatter our own herd. There must be no word of anger; but our guard must be made more sure. Go thou home to thine own lodge, and to-morrow, while the east is still white, let us hold council in the wigwam farther down the lake. The home wind is blowing strong, and there will be more snow to cover our trail."
Thus saying, they parted for the night. But the next morning, early, from one of the small fortified villages of the Indians, some miles from their great Castle, no less than six young men set out at different times and took their way separately through the woods. One said to his wife, as he left her, "I go to hunt the moose;" and one to his sister, "I go to kill the deer."
An older man told his squaw the same story, but she laughed, and answered: "Thou art careful of thy goods, my husband. Truth is too good a thing to be used an all occasions. Thou keepest it for the time of need."
The man smiled, and stroked her cheek, saying: "Keep thine own counsel, wife, and when I lie to thee seem not to know it."