Reginald replied, “No one is bravest here; where War–Eagle leads, none but brave men are worthy to follow.”
The next minute Nekimi was in full speed towards the village; and the Delaware band, with Baptiste and Perrot, moved leisurely forward after him.
Scarcely two hours had elapsed when a single horseman was seen riding towards them, in whom, as he drew near, they had some difficulty in recognising Reginald, for his dress was soiled, his countenance haggard and horror–stricken, while the foaming sides and wide–dilated nostril of Nekimi showed that he had been riding with frantic and furious speed. All made way for him, and he spoke to none until he drew his bridle by the side of War–Eagle, and beckoned to him and to Baptiste to come aside. For a moment he looked at the former in silence with an eye so troubled, that the guide feared that some dreadful accident had unsettled his young master’s mind, but that fear was almost immediately relieved by Reginald, who, taking his friend’s hand, said to him, in a voice almost inarticulate from suppressed emotion,
“I bring you, War–Eagle, dreadful—dreadful news.”
“War–Eagle knows that the sun does not always shine,” was the calm reply.
“But this is darkness,” said Reginald, shuddering; “black darkness, where there is neither sun nor moon, not even a star!”
“My brother,” said the Indian, drawing himself proudly to his full height; “my brother speaks without thinking. The sun shines still, and the stars are bright in their place. The Great Spirit dwells always among them; a thick cloud may hide them from our eyes, but my brother knows they are shining as brightly as ever.”
The young man looked with wonder and awe upon the lofty countenance of this untaught philosopher of the wilderness; and he replied, “War–Eagle is right. The Great Spirit sees all, and whatever he does is good! But sometimes the cup of misfortune is so full and so bitter, that man can hardly drink it and live.”
“Let Netis speak all and conceal nothing,” said the chief: “what has he seen at the village?”
“There is no village!” said the young man in an agony of grief. “The lodges are overthrown; Tamenund, the Black Father, Olitipa, all are gone; wolves and vultures are quarrelling over the bones of unburied Lenapé!”