"By little signs shalt thou know," said the Gray Dove, "Small clouds prognosticate great storms. When thou seest any change, mark it well. If his head droop, and his eye seeks the ground more than common, bring or send the tidings unto me. If he be silent when he should speak, and hears not the words thou utterest; if he gazes up to the heaven as if he were seeking to know the changes of the weather when all is clear; and if he looks at the tomahawk as it hangs upon the beam, with a dull and heavy eye, be sure the time is coming."
Otaitsa gave a wild start, and exclaimed: "Then it is this night, for all the signs thou hast mentioned have been present. When I entered the lodge his head was bowed down, and his eyes fixed upon the ground. He was very sad. He heard me, but his thoughts seemed to wander. When he stopped my petitions and turned toward the door, his eyes rested gloomily on the hatchet; and when he stood without, they were lifted to the sky, as if looking for stars in the daytime. It is to-night! It is to-night! Oh, what shall be done?"
"Nay," answered the Gray Dove, with a kindly look, "it is not to-night. Be composed, my child. Not until to-morrow, at the hour of twilight, will the six moons have passed away, and the Black Eagle speaks no word in vain. He will not lift the tomahawk a moment before the hour; but to-morrow will be the time, after the sun has set. The palefaces have taken the warpath against each other, and the allies of the Black Eagle have called upon him to take wing and help them. They have bid him paint himself for battle, and come forth with his warriors. He has waited but for this, and now we know the day and the hour; for he will not tarry."
Otaitsa still trembled, but her mind was much relieved for the present. She knew her father well, and she saw the truth of what the Gray Dove said. "How shall we stay him?" she inquired. "The Black Eagle bends not in his way like the serpent; he goes straight upon his path like a bird in the air. He hears not the voice of entreaty; his ears are stopped against the words of prayer. You may turn the torrent as it rushes down after the melting of the snow, or the rock as it falls from the precipice, but you cannot arrest the course of the Black Eagle, or turn him from his way!"
"Be firm and constant," said the Gray Dove. "We are in the hands of the Great Spirit. Watch him closely, Otaitsa, all to-morrow, from the midday till the setting sun--from the setting sun till the dawn, if it be needful. The moment he goes forth, come then to me at the lodge of the Lynx, by the western gate of the palisade; there shalt thou find me with others. I know that thy young heart is strong, and that it will not quail. Watch carefully, but watch secretly. See if he takes the tomahawk in his belt, and if his face be gay or gloomy. Mark every sign, and bring the news to me."
"They may go off by the other gate, and steal round," said one of the women in the inner circle. "I will set my daughter, now waiting, to watch that gate and bring us tidings. She is still and secret as the air of night, and has the foot of the wind."
"It is good," said the Gray Dove, rising. "Let us all be prepared, for the boy must not die."
No more was said, for the old prophetess fell into one of those deep and solemn reveries from which all present knew she could not easily be wakened, and which probably had acquired for her the reputation of conversing with the spirit world which she possessed. One by one, slowly and silently, the women stole out of the lodge, dispersing in various directions the moment they quitted the door. Otaitsa remained the last, in the hope that the Gray Dove would speak again, and afford her some further information of her plans; but she continued silently gazing on the fire, with her tall figure erect and stiff, and probably perfectly unconscious of the departure of the others, till at length the Blossom followed the rest, and returned quietly to the great lodge.
The following day broke dark and stormy. About three o'clock in the afternoon a sharp, cold wind succeeded to the mild breath of spring, and the Indians generally remained assembled round their fires, leaving the wide space within the palisade very nearly deserted. Shortly before sunset one Indian woman crept quietly forth, and took her way toward a hut near the eastern entrance of their village. Another followed very speedily, and when twilight had ended and night begun, no less than twelve stood beneath the roof, with the Gray Dove in the midst of them. It was too dark for anyone to see the face of another, for the night had fallen heavily and thick, and a blanket was stretched across the entrance. But the Gray Dove felt them one after another with her hands, asking a question of each, to which she seemed to receive a satisfactory answer.
"The thirteenth is not here," she said, "but she will come, and her heart will not fail."