The messenger was to be an arrow to which Kossookah would attach feathers of the grouse. From his strong bow he would speed it far out that Teeheeneh might see it, watch for its falling, recover it and read the message.
The day was propitious. Seldom did an arrow miss its mark. Evening came and the hunters had more game than they could carry down in one trip.
Long ago in another clime Plautus said, “whom the gods love die young.”
Kossookah, proud of his success, repaired to the edge of the cliff beyond the falls, prepared the arrow, set it against the string of buffalo hide, stepped forward, when the cliff began to tremble and went down, carrying the brave Kossookah with it.
Long and lovingly did Teeheeneh wait for the signal. Night wrapped the mountains in gloom, but still Teeheeneh waited and wondered. Could Kossookah be dead? Had the chase led him so far away that he could not return in time to keep his word to Teeheeneh? He might even now be coming down the Indian cañon.
This new thought lent hope, and hope wings to the flying feet of Teeheeneh. From rock to rock, from ledge to ledge she sped with tireless feet, escaping many perils she reached the foot of the cliff.
Finding no trace of Kossookah she paced the sands all the long weary night, hoping against hope that every hour would bring some tidings of her beloved.
The pain at her heart increased with the hours, as she sang in the low soft voice of her race a passionate love song. The gray dawn found her still pacing the sands.
Now, like a deer she springs over the rocks and up the steep ascent to the spot from whence the signal arrow was to wing its way to her feet.
