Having thus spoken, the guide hastened to carry into effect the arrangements above mentioned, and in a short time the little camp was moved to the spot where the Delaware reclined against the stump of a withered alder, over which his followers had already thrown some blankets and buffalo–robes to soften his couch. Hither was brought the tent of Prairie–bird, which was so pitched that the outer compartment might shelter the wounded chief, and might afford to Reginald and Prairie–bird the means of watching him constantly, and administering such relief in his extremity as was within their power.
Lita’s energies, both of mind and body, seemed entirely paralysed, she neither wept nor sobbed, but sate in a corner of the tent, whence she gazed intently, yet with a vacant expression, upon the sufferer.
He alone of the whole party maintained throughout a dignified and unmoved composure; nor could either the pangs he endured, nor the certain prospect of a lingering death, draw from him a word of complaint. He smiled gratefully as Prairie–bird from time to time raised the refreshing cup of water to his lips, or wiped away the drops which weakness and agony wrung from his forehead. Once, and once only, did a look of gloom and discontent pass over his countenance.
Reginald observing it, took his hand and inquired, “Is there a dark thought in my brother’s heart, let him speak it?”
“There is,” replied the chief, with stern energy, “Mahéga, the bloody–hand—the Washashee wolf—the slayer of my tribe, he lives, and War–Eagle must go to the hunting–fields of the brave, and when his fathers say to him, ‘where is the scalp of Mahéga?’ his tongue will be silent, and his hands will be empty.”
“His hands will not be empty,” replied Reginald, breathing his own impassioned feelings in the figurative language of his friend. “His hands will not be empty; he can show the scalps of many enemies; he may tell the ancient people that he was the war–chief of their race, that neither Washashee nor Dahcotah ever saw his back; and that, to save his sister’s life, he gave his own. Where is the warrior who would not envy the fame of War–Eagle, and who would not rejoice in the glory of such a death?”
These words, and the tone of earnest feeling in which they were spoken, touched the right chord in the heart of the chief; he pressed the hand of his friend, and a smile of triumph shot across his features like a sunbeam breaking through the thick darkness of a thunder cloud.