“Does Red Wing think to take the pale-face to his own lodge, that he is thus careful of her?” was the sarcastic response.
“The White Bird speaks kindly to the Red Wing; he will not forget,” was the sententious rejoinder.
For a time the two stood looking at each other; then the Dark Cloud stepped to one side and attempted to pass his opponent. But the latter divined his intention, and, grasping him by the throat, hurled him backward with such force that he was almost thrown to the ground. Furious now past all control, Dark Cloud drew his knife, and prepared to rush upon his foe. Red Wing seized his hatchet, and awaited the onset. Others of the party, seeing they were likely to lose at least one of their most chivalrous braves, interposed to stay the conflict.
“Why will not the red braves learn wisdom?” demanded the chief of the party, with a voice of authority. “Why will they war upon each other? The blood of the pale-faces only should flow at their hands.”
By threats and persuasion a reconciliation was effected. The two braves returned their weapons and moved moodily from the spot, while the journey was at once resumed.
On they tramped, mile after mile, through the forest, until at length morning broke over the earth. But the dawn brought no relief to the prisoner. As the light increased, the dusky features of her attendants were brought more fully to view, with all their horror of war-paint and inhuman ferocity.
At length the party emerged upon the banks of the Mississippi. The guards, who were loitering about the flotilla, flocked around the fair prisoner with the greatest expressions of curiosity and satisfaction. A huge dug-out, capable of carrying the entire party, was launched, and they set forth across the stream.
Poor Emily gazed into the yellow waters of the mighty river. How calmly they flowed. Oh! that she could rest beneath them. Then all sorrow would end, and she could join those loved ones gone before. She would make the attempt, and God forgive her if she came unbidden to his presence. It was a fearful resolve, but she was unable to reason. Only wishing to rid herself of a life which could bring naught but misery, she awaited the propitious moment to carry out her plan.
It came at length. No eye seemed upon her. Rising, she closed her eyes, and with a desperate leap plunged, not into the water, but into the strong arms of the watchful Red Wing. Seating her upon the thwart from which she had risen, he said, in tones of kindness:
“White Bird must not die. Great chief love White Bird, and make her very happy. Pale-face must live for pale-face.”