“It is the spirit-bird, dear little one; it is the token. Go now, quickly, up the dark ravine; follow to its source the spring that runs past our door. I have never allowed you to go there, for a dark spirit lives in that dread place; but now, do not fear; the spirit-bird will protect you. Go into the deep wood that grows around the fountain head. You will come to a fallen log. Watch closely; and come and tell me what you see.”
So little Snow-flower, shaken with fear and grief,—for she knew that her mother must soon leave her,—followed the little rill, up the dark ravine, to its source. The white blackbird flitted ahead, and wherever he rested, the sunlight broke through the thick leaves overhead, so that she walked in light all the way. Presently she came in sight of the fallen log, and her heart stood still with fear; for, sitting on the log, wrapped in his blanket, and smoking a long-stemmed, strange-looking pipe, was the medicine man, her foster father. As she came toward him, he arose and fixed on her his bright eyes; and then he spoke in a soft voice that seemed to come from a long distance.
“Little pale-face daughter, take this pipe to my wife. It is a token that you have seen me. Tell her I am lonely without her; that she must be ready when the sun is setting to go with me, through the sunset gates, into the spirit world. As for you, my daughter, your path lies there,” pointing toward the east; “follow it to your own nation and your own kindred;” and, laying his pipe on the log, he was gone in an instant.
Little Snow-flower, almost overcome with fear, ran quickly to the log. She picked up the pipe, which changed in her hands into a strange flower; the leaves, the stem, and the blossoms were all white. It was the Ghost flower, or Indian pipe.
Hurrying back down the ravine, she ran with flying feet into the tepee. The Indian woman snatched the flower from the child’s hand and kissed it, then listened anxiously to her story.
“Yes, little one, I must go. I had hoped that you might go with me; but the Great Spirit does not will it so. And before I go, you must leave me; I must see you started on your journey.” And then she told her of her rescue, and of her parentage.
The pipe changed into a strange flower.
“This was tied fast round your neck. I hid it, and told no one.” She showed the little girl the case of a gold locket, with a scrap of closely written paper within. “Take this to the agency. The paper talks; but do not fear, it is not bewitched. The agent will speak for it, and I believe it will tell you where to find your kindred. Now hasten, dear child; the sun will soon reach the cleft in the mountain, and then I must go. I will see you again; my husband’s power is great; he will let me come to you whenever you find a flower like this—the Ghost flower.”
Then, with tears and sobs, they separated. And when the sun was setting, a great flock of blackbirds flew straight into its splendor; and among them were two white ones: the souls of the medicine chief and his wife. And poor little Snow-flower had begun her long journey to the agency. She left the valley secretly, crept away without bidding any one in the tribe farewell, for her Indian mother feared that they might detain her. The medicine chief’s home stood apart from the rest of the village, and was approached by the villagers with fear. When it was known that he was dead, the tribe buried him and mourned for him. But the mother and the daughter were unmolested in their grief.