Thinking that this must be the wife of the man whose body I had taken, and that I must say something, I remarked, “Yes, I have really come.”
“Ah!” she said with concern, looking up into my face, “how hungry you must be! I cooked your favorite stew against your return last night, but you did not appear, and the boy and I never touched it; I can warm it for you in just a little while. Hang the deer on the tree in the old place and go to your bed and rest until I have it ready; you must be tired. Or wait,” she added, “I will spread a fresh mat I finished yesterday.”
She passed into the wigwam and I followed, to find myself in a dwelling, the most noticeable feature of which was a pair of wide platforms or benches, one along the wall on each side, raised some two or three feet above the floor and covered with mats. Back of these benches or bunks, the wall was lined with colored mats; and the space beneath them was filled with assorted bags, baskets and bundles, while from the roof hung other bags and bundles, and a string or two of corn, the ears braided together by the husk. Behind the poles supporting the roof, was thrust a half-finished bow; near it hung a bundle of sprouts intended, probably, for arrows.
The woman spread a fresh mat on one of the platforms. “Lie here,” she said, “I will build the fire inside here instead of out in the shed; our house feels damp after the rain.”
I watched her as she went out, and saw her taking down some large object from a shelf in the shed, and by the time I had stretched myself on the mat she returned with a large, egg-shaped, earthen pot, and set its pointed end between three stones placed for the purpose in the fireplace in the center of the wigwam, and began to stir the ashes with a long stick. Finally she uncovered some live coals, left from the night before, and gathering them in a heap with her stick, she placed some fibrous stuff, which looked like shredded cedar bark, upon them and began to blow into it. Soon she had a lively blaze, which she fed with small sticks until it was well started.
Pulling the fire about the base of the pot, she soon had it bubbling, and, before long, set before me a wooden bowl of steaming, savory stew of meat, corn and beans. Beside the first bowl she placed another, containing flat dumplings, which proved to be made of crushed, hulled corn flavored with berries, rather heavy but delicious.
On the edge of the stew bowl hung a short, wide, wooden spoon. As I ate, she sat on the edge of the bench just opposite me and chatted happily of this and that, rarely pausing for an answer—for which I was thankful.
Between mouthfuls, I looked her over. She was a comely young woman of twenty-five or thirty, ever showing her even, white teeth in a smile, her kindly face as yet but little weather-beaten. Her black hair was neatly parted in the middle and brought back and fastened at the nape of her neck with a sort of long, cylindrical knot which was wrapped in beads; several short loops of beads hung from the rims of her ears where there were evidently, as in my own case, a number of small perforations, while each lobe showed a hole perhaps a quarter of an inch in diameter. About her neck were many strings of beads of different sorts; some looked to be of dried berries or seeds; others of bone, while some were certainly of shell, and one string looked like copper.
The upper part of her plump body was naked but for these beads; from her waist hung a skirt of buckskin reaching below the knees, neatly fringed and bearing a wide, embroidered border with an intricate design in colors; it was evidently a flat, robe-like piece wrapped about her waist, belted taut, and the top edge folded down over the belt. Her legs were covered by leggings, her little feet in moccasins, both leggings and moccasins being of deerskin and embroidered with what I afterwards found to be dyed deer hair and porcupine quills. Both wrists were wound with strings of beads.
As I ate, she talked on: “Your mother was over yesterday from the Pulling-corn village. She says she is making you a fine robe of four soft, dressed deerskins, and is decorating the back with a large picture of your Guardian Spirit, the mask being done in the little shells she bought from those southern tribesmen who came up the river in that big canoe—you remember. She gave them in exchange her whole stock of healing herbs, and had to work like a beaver to dig another lot of the little roots before winter set in.