Two warriors obeyed his directions, but returned saying there were no signs of the tribe. Then he sent others in a different direction. Their report was the same. Ashes everywhere, they reported, but no smoke and no fires. The Senecas must have left. Then at the council held that night Ga-geh-djo-wă proposed to go himself, with another warrior. This was agreed to, and they set out together. When they had gone five or six miles, the wily chief said to his companion, "Let us separate and each take a different pathway. You go over the hills; I will go through, the valley. We will meet on the mountain at dusk." So they parted, and Ga-geh-djo-wă, remembering his way, sped where he guessed he should find some of his old tribe. He found, as he expected, a family he knew. In hurried words he explained to them their danger: "The treacherous Illinois are upon you. Warn all the tribe of Senecas: bid them come early and hide along the range above the valley. I will be there with a heron's plume on my crest, and when I stumble it is the signal for the Senecas to attack. Go and tell the word of Ga-geh-djo-wă. He is true."
Returning to the appointed spot he reported that he had seen nothing, and hastened back to the camp. Then he said: "I remember these hills. I know where the Senecas hide. Give me the bravest warriors and we will go ahead. I can track them to their hiding-place. See! there below rises the smoke of their wigwams. Send two warriors after us at a short distance. We will surprise the Senecas."
Early morning saw the camp in activity, every warrior panting for the scalps he yearned to procure. Little they dreamed that already five hundred Senecas awaited them in the valley. The march commenced. As they entered the valley Ga-geh-djo-wă gazed anxiously around and delightedly caught sight of a face among the bushes. Now he knew the Senecas had heeded him. He led his men forward; then, pretending to miss his footing, he fell. Instantly the war-cry sounded; the Senecas rushed from their ambush, and he left his treacherous foes and rejoined his own people.
The slaughter was great. All the Illinois warriors but two in the rear were slain. Three hundred scalps revenged the treachery of the Illinois. Ga-geh-djo-wă was seized by the jubilant Senecas and borne in triumph to their settlement. Around the fires, as they displayed the scalps of their enemies, they listened to his recital of their cruelty, of his tortures, and of the woman's death. Never again did he leave them. He lived many years, the most esteemed warrior and chief of the Senecas, and when he died they buried him with the highest honors they knew, and have kept his name sacred in the legends of the tribe to this day.
TRAVELER'S JOKES.
An Indian traveler, tired of his uneventful journey, undertook to create an excitement after the following fashion: An old Indian custom is for runners, or those carrying important news, to announce the fact and gather the people together by crying, in singing tones, "Goh-weh, goh-weh." This the traveler began doing, and when the crowd called upon him to stop and tell his news, he began, "As I came through the last village the people were so delighted with my news that they all danced for joy, and shouted and kissed me." This he told so earnestly and sincerely that the people, not wishing to be outdone by any other tribe, also began singing and kissing him and making merry; and while the excitement was at its height, pleased with his success, the facetious traveler escaped and continued his journeyings.
Arrived at the next village he again began calling, "Goh-weh, goh-weh"; and the people and chiefs gathered around him, crying, "Let us hear." And he answered, "As I passed through the last town some people wept at my news, others began quarreling, kicking, and fighting." Immediately his contagious news produced its effect, and in the confusion he again escaped, saying to himself "What fools people are."
That night, as he was preparing to camp out, a man passed who inquired the distance to the next village; but the traveler said, "You cannot reach it to-night. Let us camp together." As they were each recounting stories, and the new-comer was boasting of his superior cunning, the traveler inquired, "What log is that you now use for a pillow?" and he guessed hickory, elm, &c. But the traveler said, "No, it is everlasting sleep." In the morning the traveler took some pitchy resin and rubbed over the eyes of his sleeping comrade and left, laughing at the probable chagrin the man would feel when attempting to open his eyes, and in the recollection of the warning regarding everlasting sleep and his boasts of superior cunning.
No further accounts of the traveler's jokes are told.