Slowly he walked away from the fire and down toward the reedy shore of the island.
As Pahundootah watched the grace with which he walked and noted again his long and glossy hair, he could not doubt but that his mother was mistaken, and that this was really a maiden. He followed, begging Harka to turn and smile upon him and return with him to the fire.
“No,” repeated Harka, “your mother has insulted me. It is better I should return to my own people.”
By the side of the lake Harka sat down, and the sorcerer threw himself down beside him, and laid his head in Harka’s lap.
Softly Harka passed his fingers through Pahundootah’s hair. Lulled by his love and the touch of Harka’s fingers, the sorcerer’s eyelids closed, and he sank into slumber. Then softly the lad drew from his girdle the blade of grass the witch had given him and with one stroke severed the head of Pahundootah from the body. Swiftly wrapping it in a cloth he had brought for that purpose, he sped to where the canoe lay among the rushes, and stepping into it, he drove it off across the water with silent, powerful strokes.
When he reached the farther shore, he turned and looked back. Already lights were moving about on the island. The old mother, grown suspicious, was hunting for the sorcerer. Then suddenly across the water sounded loud fierce wails and cries. By that, Harka knew they had discovered Pahundootah’s body.
Without waiting longer, he sped back to the camp of the old witch. As she saw him coming, she began to clap her hands, shouting, “You have slain him! You have slain him! Harka has slain the enemy of Wokonkatonzooeyepekahaichu!” and all the scalps that hung about her shouted with her. “Now,” she cried, “you are a great warrior! Now no one can laugh at you or scorn you.”
All that night as Harka lay beside the witch’s fire, he could hear, now louder now fainter, the cries of Pahundootah’s people, and always,
When he reached the farther shore, he turned and looked back. [Page 232]