At such times little Snow-flower was hidden in some secure place and warned to remain quiet; for her Indian mother was haunted by the fear of separation from the child. She knew that inquiries had been set afloat at the agency for a little one, said to have been saved from the massacre, and her heart told her that the child’s kindred would claim her, sooner or later. So, for many years little Snow-flower never saw a white person.
When she asked her Indian father or mother why she was so different from the other children, they told her The Great Spirit had made her so, and she was content.
“Perhaps it’s because I am the great Medicine Chief’s daughter,” she said to her father; and he gravely nodded.
She was very fond of both of her foster parents; but her love for the medicine man was mingled with awe. When she saw him dressed for some religious dance or yearly festival, in his strange medicine dress, with his face painted in grotesque and horrible pattern, she fled to her mother and hid her face in her lap. She loved her mother devotedly, and her love was returned. The woman was like all Indian mothers, very gentle and kind to her little daughter. The little girl was never punished, and was always spoken to in the soft, low voice peculiar to Indian women. “Little daughter,” “Little Starlight,” “Little Singing-bird,” were the fond names bestowed on her.
The years passed quietly by, until Snow-flower was ten years old, when, one summer day, the medicine man came into the tepee looking very ill. He threw himself down on the pallet on the floor and soon was unconscious. He lingered so nine days, anxiously watched and cared for by his wife and Snow-flower. On the tenth day he opened his eyes and beckoned his wife to him.
“I must go far over the terrible mountains, into the heart of the sunset, into the spirit land. You will come soon; watch for the token I will send you.”
Then, closing his eyes, he was quickly gone. And the tepee was very desolate and lonely to the wife and little Snow-flower.
All through the long days and the bright starlit nights the wife watched for the token he would send her, until her knees grew weak, and her head drooped, and she could not walk. Then little Snow-flower fed her, and waited on her, and also watched for the token that was to be sent. One day she crept into the hut and knelt by the Indian woman.
“Mother,” she whispered, “I have seen a strange sight: a flock of blackbirds lit close to our home. I thought to snare some for your food; but as I approached them, I saw that one of them was shaped like the rest,—but, mother, he was pure white; and he lit on the ridgepole of our home.”
Then the pale wife raised herself on her elbow, her eyes shining with joy.