Beyond the sunset

by Arthur D. Howden Smith

"What chance of coming down whole of limb in darkness?" I asked.

Tawannears spoke up before he could answer me.

"Tamanoas is—Tamanoas," he proclaimed in his resonant voice. "As Otetiani has said, under us burns the fire of the Life-giver of the world. Brothers, Tawannears goes to make his prayer to the Great Spirit. Surely, here in His own abode, He will listen!"

And he strode to the nearest rock-pile whence issued the steam of the earth-fires, and flung up his arms in the Indians' dignified gesture of prayer—for I think it incomparably more dignified for man to approach the Great Spirit, in whatever form, not as a suppliant upon bended knee, but as one who craves favor from an honorable master. And his voice rang sonorously again in the rhythmic oratory of the Hodenosaunee, as he stated his case, pleaded his hungry heart, cited his bitter need.

We could not hear his words. They were not for us; and we welcomed the little wind that blew into the crater, twining his stately figure in the mist of the fumeroles and carrying the echoing phrases over the opposite snow-banks. But we watched him enthralled, the while the shadows blackened on the mountain's lower flanks and a pink glow flooded the peak around us, shooting a miniature rainbow through the steam-clouds. Tawannears tossed out his arms in one final appeal, proudly, as though he had a right to ask, then turned, with a light of exultation in his eyes, and walked back to us.

"I think Hawenneyu opened His ears to me," he said simply. "My heart that was sad commenced to sing bravely. It grows strong. All fear has left me."

With the approach of night the little wind became a gale that moaned amongst the rocks. The air, deprived of the sun's heat, was deadly cold. We were in the grip of a Winter frost. And true it is we should have died there before morning had it not been for a steam-chamber I found in one of the clumps of black rocks. 'Twas unpleasantly damp, but the warmth gave us opportunity for sleep. We awoke in a different world. The peak was wrapped in a thick, moist blanket of fog. The air that had been briskly cold was now clammy. Water congealed on our foreheads. Our hide garments were stiffened by it. We shivered like people with marsh fever. Our teeth rattled as we ate our breakfast—the last food we had, for in our ignorance we had thought to complete the ascent and return in a single day. Even Tawannears, uplifted by his conviction that he had secured for his quest the aid and endorsement of an unearthly power, was depressed by this outlook.

Having finished our scanty meal, we fumbled our way to the gap in the crater wall by which we had entered the previous evening, and hesitated there, peering into the fog.

"We have two choices," I said at length, shattering the uncomfortable silence. "We can stay here without food in the dampness until the clouds are dispersed—or we perish. Or we can commit ourselves to the hazards of chance in this pit-mirk and essay to go down where yesterday we came up—with every chance, comrades, that a misstep will hurl us all to destruction."

At that instant the fog was rent for as long as the eye can remain open without blinking, and we caught a fair glimpse of the flower-fields and the lordly stands of timber those few short miles away.