Where do you wish to go first? asked Quick.
To the graves of my fathers, replied Cahoonshee.
That is at the sand hill, on the east side of the Neversink, near the Kingston trail. ([See Appendix.])
From this time until they reached the sand hill, not a word was spoken. The Tri-States rock was passed, and the Neversink Valley opened up before them, while to the right rose the Shawangunk mountains. Cahoonshee wanted to go to the sand hills by a route that no Indian would see him.
There are the graves of the last of the Cahoonshees, said Quick, pointing.
Cahoonshee was silent and meditative. Before him was to be seen the graves of his fathers. The river had washed the banks, and skulls and skeletons were bleaching in the sun. Cahoonshee picked up one of the skulls, and peered into the cavities, from whence once emanated the fire of intelligence, and was the dome of thought. His frame shook, his eye moistened.
Enough! he said. Let us go.
The travelers pursued their way along the Neversink until they reached Basheskill, where they encamped for the night. Scarcely a word passed between Cahoonshee and Quick. Cahoonshee appeared to be in a deep study, the meaning of which, the white man could not fathom. The next morning they crossed the river and wound their way along the Neversink for several miles, when Cahoonshee suddenly exclaimed:
Beaver Dam! His eyes for the first time had fallen on a spot that reminded him of the days of his boyhood. It seemed to warm the blood in his veins and awaken long slumbering emotions that could no longer be suppressed.