"There is One above that will save me."
As the morning drew nearer, the air seemed filled with a long procession of Canadian geese going toward the sea. The air rang with their calls. The poor boy seemed to think that somehow they were calling to him.
There was silence at last in the air, and he turned toward Gretchen his strangely quiet face, and said, "Play."
Gretchen raised her bow. As she did so a sharp spasm came over him. He lifted his hand and tried to feel of one of the feathers from the Black Eagle's nest. He was evidently wandering to the Falls of the Missouri. His hand fell. He passed into a stertorous sleep, and lay there, watched by the old chief and the silent tribe.
Just as the light of early morn was flaming through the tall, cool, dewy trees, the breathing became labored, and ceased.
There he lay in the rising sun, silent and dead, with the helpless chief standing statue-like above him, and the tribe, motionless as a picture, circled around him, and with Gretchen at his feet.
"Make way!" said the old chief, in a deep voice.
He stepped down from the platform, and walked in a kingly manner, yet with tottering steps, toward the forest. Gretchen followed him. He heard her step, but did not look around.
"White girl, go back," he said; "I want to be alone."
He entered the forest slowly and disappeared.