“A thousand warriors of the Lenapé, whose blood is in my veins, have gone before me to the happy fields,—they knew not fear, and I the last of their children will bring no shame upon their race; when I come they will say, ‘Welcome, Wingenund!’ and before many winters and summers are past, War–Eagle and Netis, Prairie–bird and the Black Father, will join me, and the blue eyes of the Lily of Mooshanne will be there also, and we will dwell in a land of streams and flowers, of numberless deer, and abundant corn, unvexed by cold, or want, or pain.”
Such was the vision that rose before the mental eye of the youth, and so completely was he engrossed by it, that he took not the slightest notice of the group assembled to put him to a slow and agonising death.
Meanwhile Prairie–bird having prayed earnestly to Heaven to support her, and pardon the deceit which she was about to practise, dressed herself with more than usual care, and coming forth from her tent, stood before Mahéga with a dignity of demeanour, to the effect of which even his fierce and intractable nature was not insensible. He rose not, however, at her approach, but contented himself with inquiring, “Has Olitipa come to save her brother’s life, or to kill him?”
“Neither,” replied the maiden, firmly; “she is come to give good counsel to Mahéga; let him beware how he neglects it!”
“Let not Olitipa’s speech travel in circles,” said the angry chief. “Mahéga has said that this day she should consent to be his wife, or she must see that feeble boy burnt before her eyes,—there are but two paths,—which does Olitipa choose?”
“The feet of foolish men often wander where there is no path at all,” replied Prairie–bird; and she added, with solemnity, pointing upward to Heaven: “There is only one path, and one Guide, the Great Spirit who dwells above!”
Those of the Osages who were familiar with the Delaware tongue in which she was speaking, looked at each other, as if wondering at her words, but Mahéga, whose passion was only increased by her exceeding beauty, answered vehemently,
“It is easy for Olitipa to talk and to make children believe that her words are those of the Great Spirit—Mahéga is not a child.”
“If he compare his strength with that of the Great Spirit,” said the maiden, boldly, “Mahéga’s is less than the least finger of a child. Who can tell the power of the Great Spirit? The strong wind is his breath,—the thunder is his voice,—the sun is his smile. If He is angry and withdraws the sun, day is turned into night—darkness and fear dwell in the hearts of men.”
The energy of her language and manner were not altogether without their effect even upon the stern nature of Mahéga; nevertheless, he replied,