“When the Lenapé’s heart is full he thinks little of food,” replied the youth proudly. He added, in a more subdued tone: “It was not easy to find meat, for the Washashee had driven the bison from their path, and Wingenund could not leave their trail. Twice he has met bad Indians, who tried to kill him.”
“And how did he escape them, being without a horse?” inquired Prairie–bird.
“They were too many for him to fight, and he ran from them; but being weak with hunger, one Aricará overtook him by the waters of the Arkansas. Wingenund shot him, and, plunging into the river, dived; and the others never found him; but Wingenund lost his rifle, and since then he has eaten only roots and fruit.”
The simple narrative of the hardships and sufferings which her young brother had undergone for her sake, and which his emaciated appearance attested but too well, brought fresh tears to the eyes of Prairie–bird; but she checked them as well as she was able, and said, “Tell me yet one more thing; how have you been able to reach this spot unperceived by the Osage watchmen?”
“Wingenund saw from far the camp chosen by Mahéga; he saw that he could not approach it in front; but the rocks behind are rough and high; he made a rope of bark and grass, climbed up the height, and let himself down from a pine–tree above the tent; but in case he should be discovered and killed by the Osages, he has left an arrow where War–Eagle is sure to find it, and the arrow will show him where to come.”
“Dear, dear Wingenund, you are indeed a brother,” said the maiden, deeply moved by the mingled foresight, patience, and devotion that he had evinced. “You are, indeed, a worthy son of the ancient people.”
Here she was interrupted by a shrill cry; Lita was at the same instant thrown rudely aside by Mahéga, who rushed into the tent, followed by two of his warriors. Wingenund sprang to his feet; but ere he could draw the knife from his girdle he was seized by the Osages, and his arms pinioned behind his back.
Dark and louring was the frown which the angry chief cast upon his prisoner. The Delaware youth quailed not before it; the hour of trial had arrived, and the haughty spirit rising within him, triumphed over all that he had undergone; all that he knew he had yet to undergo. He drew himself to the full height of his graceful figure; and fixing his bright keen eye full upon Mahéga, awaited his fate in silence.
“Has the cunning antelope of the Delawares run so far to see the den of the Black Wolf?” demanded the chief, with a contemptuous sneer. “Has the buffalo bull sent the calf on a path that he was afraid to tread himself? Have the Lenapé girls sent one of their number to carry wood and water for the Washashee warriors?”
Mahéga paused; and on finding that his cowardly and brutal jeers called forth no reply, nor changed a muscle on the haughty countenance before him, his anger grew more ungovernable, and he exclaimed in a voice of thunder, “If the cur–dog will not bark, the whip, and the knife, and the fire shall find him a tongue! If he wishes not to be torn in pieces on the spot, let him say what brought him to the Osage camp, and where he has left War–Eagle and his pale–faced friends!”