In spite of the emotion caused by her brother’s sudden appearance, and by the recollection that, if discovered, his life would certainly be forfeited, Prairie–bird retained sufficient presence of mind to continue passing her fingers through the chords of her guitar, in order to drown the noise made by Wingenund in removing the fastenings, and effecting his entrance below the tent. At length he stood before her; and, after gazing sadly, fondly, on his countenance for a few moments, she fell upon his neck and wept! The figure was indeed that of her favourite brother; but oh, how changed since she had last seen him! Cold, wet, sleepless nights, fatigue, and hunger, had all combined to wear and exhaust a frame which, although cast in nature’s fairest and most graceful mould, had not yet reached the enduring strength of manhood: his once gay attire was soiled and ragged, the mocassins on his feet were of undressed bison–hide, torn, and scarcely affording any protection against the stones and thorny plants with which that region abounds; his light bow, with a few arrows still hung at his back, and the hunting–knife at his girdle: this was all that remained of the gay accoutrements with which he had been adorned in the Osage village; yet, although the frame was emaciated, and the cheeks sunken, the proud lustre of his eye told of a spirit unquenched by suffering, and rising superior to the trials which had almost destroyed its earthly tenement. Prairie–bird longed to ask a hundred questions in a breath: how he had come? whether he had seen or learnt any thing of War–Eagle, and of Reginald? but affectionate compassion for her young brother’s sad condition overcoming every other feeling, she said to him, “Dear, dear Wingenund, you are wearied to death, sit by me and rest; you are starved, are you not?”
“Wingenund has not eaten for two days,” replied the youth, seating himself gently at his sister’s side.
Fortunately, more than half of the evening meal apportioned to Prairie–bird and Lita remained untouched in the tent, and the latter instantly set before the youth some well–cooked cakes and bison meat, luxuries such as had not passed his lips for many a day; and having also placed a vessel of water within his reach, she went, with the intuitive delicacy and sagacity of her sex, towards the opening of the tent, so as to afford Prairie–bird an opportunity of speaking unrestrainedly to her brother, and at the same time to secure them as far as possible against interruption. Wingenund, with all his heroic patience and self–denial, was a young half–starved Indian, and the delicacies set before him vanished in a few minutes, as if they had been placed before a famished wolf. Prairie–bird offered him a draught of water, adding, with an affectionate smile, “My brother, ’tis well that there is no more meat; a full meal is dangerous after so long a fast!”
“It is enough,” replied the youth; “Wingenund is well now.”
“Tell me, then, how you have followed to this distant region, and whether you have seen any thing of War–Eagle, and of—his friends?”
“Wingenund has seen none,” he replied; “nothing except the trail of Mahéga, and that he would have followed to the big salt lake, or to death.”
“But how has it been possible for you to pursue the trail undiscovered, to find food, and to avoid strange Indians on the path?”
“Wingenund kept far behind the Washashee; their eyes could not reach him; he has left on every day’s trail marks that War–Eagle will know; they will speak to him as plainly as my sister’s Medicine–book tells her the Great Spirit’s will. He will come soon, and his friends with him.”
“But my brother has not told me how he procured food on this toilsome journey?”