A wild, weird chant that rolled and swelled in great undulatory waves of melody down the long lines of warriors, was borne to them on the breeze. The whole valley was filled with the song, the hills and mountains, reverberating and resounding, echoed back the refrain.
"'Tis the ancient chant of the kings!" explained Chiquita. "Of course we no longer go to war thus. Nevertheless, it is the ancient rite that must be performed so long as the Tewana remain a nation."
Nearer and nearer drew the advancing host, the volume of sound swelling and increasing, until splashing through the river and sweeping up the slope to where they stood, the leaders drew rein before them, and raising their lances on high, a mighty shout burst from the throats of the warriors, interrupting the song. Again and again the valley and mountains echoed and reverberated with the prolonged shouts and acclamations until the chant was taken up once more.
An eagle with
widespread wings soared above them in the blue of heaven and seemed to accompany them as they swept along between the lines in the direction of the village; each company of warriors and Amazons, without interrupting the chant, raising their lances in salute as they passed. There was no doubt in the minds of the Tewana regarding Captain Forest's ability to rule as they gazed upon the man and the horse he rode. He was as tall and deep chested as the Whirlwind, while his piercing, hawklike gaze and face shone with the strength and determination of one born to command. The Chestnut tossed his great white mane in the air and neighed and plunged and curveted between the lines.
Truly the White Cloud had read the future well—the White Chief had come with the Princess.
On they rode, the song and acclamations of the warriors ringing in their ears, their gaze now scanning the faces of these wonderful people, now lifted heavenward to the eagle which floated overhead and continued to accompany them. Their souls thrilled with the exquisite joy of living which the scene and the surroundings inspired in them. A scene which men have dreamed of during moments of spiritual uplift, and have longed to behold and imitate and become a part of, and escape from the sordidness and pettiness of mundane existence and live the life of men where life is life and every breath is freedom; where the desire to live is dominant and the future holds no terrors, and each new day and sun and moon and procession of the stars are greeted with the joy that is born of living and hailed as emblems of the creative force that marks and animates the passing of the seasons.
At the end of the lines, on a slight eminence before the village, in front of a great gathering of aged men and women and children, stood the tall, erect figure of an ancient warrior and patriarch with long, snow-white hair that fell over his shoulders. Like the Amazons, he was clad in a jaguar's skin held in place by a golden girdle and clasps studded with jewels, and wore sandals on his feet. A circlet of gold wrought with runic symbols, to the left side of which was attached a raven's wing, encircled his head, while in his right hand he held a long willow staff or wand to which were attached seven eagle feathers that fluttered in the breeze.
It was the great Sachem, the White Cloud. A hundred winters sat upon his clear, broad arching brow, and yet the years seemed to rest lightly upon him. His benign, beaming countenance shone with an almost supernatural radiance that bespoke the gift of the seer. Without altering his position, he quietly signed to Chiquita and the Captain to dismount and approach. Meanwhile the warriors had gathered in a great semicircle in front of them. For some time the White Cloud continued to gaze at them in silent scrutiny, his large, dark, piercing eyes roving from Chiquita's face to the Captain's, in the seeming effort to fathom their thoughts and the very depths of their souls, as though to reassure himself of the truth of his prophecy.
"It is done. You have come at last, my children—the prophecy is fulfilled!" he began at length. Then, raising the staff which he held in his right hand and pointing directly upward to where the eagle continued to soar in great circles, he cried in a deep sonorous voice that all might hear: "Behold the sacred bird, God's sign and symbol; the sacred witness to the consecration of His chosen ones! For was it not written in the ancient runes that, after the coming of the White Child with a face like the sun, the ancient spirit of Hiawatha, the Red Man's Messiah, would revisit the world of men once more upon the back of an eagle to verify the truth of those words uttered by the White Child?