He listened to the talk of the girls, he heard the guttural tones of the warriors, the bark of the dogs over their bones, and then suddenly he started, despite his self-possession, as a howl resounded through the forest—a wail, a howl of woe, uttered by one long practiced in such screeching. A deathlike pause ensued, the warriors were all silent, the girls laughed no more, as all waited for the explanation of this noise.
A woman came staggering from out a wigwam, her hair disheveled, a tomahawk in her hand, and advanced, still howling and wailing, toward the warriors, who rose to receive her with a marked politeness which would have done credit to the most civilized society. Having reached the group, she halted, and was immediately inclosed by the circle of women, who kept at a respectful distance, still near enough to hear distinctly. Custaloga himself felt inclined to advance; but he contented himself with gliding forward to another tree, and then stood still, leaning forward, listening with rapt attention.
“Cosama was a brave—no hunter,” she began, “ever made his wigwam warmer, or kept it better supplied with meat—he was never the last on the war-path, his cry was always heard on the battle-field; his wife and little ones were happy, for they knew the husband and father was a brave. And where is Cosama now? Is his voice heard at the council-fire to-night? Will his cry ever wake the echoes in the forest again? No. He went forth, on the first day of the moon, to fight the sneaking pale-faces, and yesterday he fell into an ambush, and the great warrior, Cosama the brave, the Quivering Spear, died by the hand of a squaw. Wah! The wigwam of Rice-stalk is empty; no more shall the voice of Cosama bid his woman go fetch the game in the forest; no more shall his boy run to meet him on the edge of the wood, and learn to be a brave at the sound of his voice. Cosama was a brave, but he died by the hand of a squaw. A woman of the pale-faces is in yonder tent, a pappoose is by her side; they are alive, and Cosama is unavenged.”
Custaloga shuddered, clutched his knife, and drew back for a bound. His eyes glared, his form seemed to swell, and one would have said he was about to do reckless battle with the whole tribe.
To be continued in Dime Novel 143, and in addition to a complete Novel.
BEADLE’S
Standard Dime Publications
NOVELS SERIES.
1. Malaeska.
2. The Privateer’s Cruise.