And the fire of his life was all in ashes.
How then had it fared with the lost Red Bird? When she fell under the boy’s arrow she was not killed but sorely wounded; and when the young Indian carried her home, very proud of his prize, his grandsire said truly that the bird must be kept captive. Red Bird recovered rapidly, and one morning Monimquess was dismayed to hear her singing as loudly as possible, “like a brook to sunshine,” as he thought, for he knew she was trying to make herself heard by the Mountain, and that if she succeeded destruction would be hurled upon the wigwam. At last, wearied with anxious thinking—
Down by the fire he lay on a bearskin
Smoking himself into silent sleep.
The door was closed, nor was there a crevice
Through which the Red Bird could creep to freedom,
When all at once she thought of the opening
Through which the smoke from the fire ascended,
Ever upward so densely pouring
Nobody dreamed she would dare to pass it.