Her eyes were wandering over the brilliant scenes. The stars seemed almost to rest on the body of her relative, as she looked towards the burial-ground where she had passed the day.
The branches of the large trees were in perfect repose: there was no wind to disturb them; and the gorgeous reflection of the moon on the river seemed almost to illuminate the village.
Richly endowed with the poetry of nature, the anxious girl felt calmed by the beauty and tranquillity of the scene. The evening was passing away, and he had not come. Confident of his affection, she determined to be patient. Sometimes her friends would pass along and converse with her; but they knew her heart was sad, deprived of the affectionate caresses of her relative. Her brother she had not seen since they had returned together from the burial-ground, but she supposed he was in one of the groups which were enjoying the lovely quiet of the evening.
Suddenly a wild and piercing cry arrests her attention. Starting to her feet, almost frantic for a moment, she recognised her brother's voice. Again it fell in one long, rich, full cry on her ear.
There was something unusual in that sound. There was no defiance, no fear, no excitement in the voice. It was as if the bald eagle, long watching and hovering over its prey, had at length planted her talons in its side, and was fleeing away far from human hope or protection. So clear was the sound, so long its echo, that some doubted if it were indeed a human voice.
Not so with We-har-ka: pressing her clasped hands tightly over her heart, turning her marble face to the heavens, she knew it all. That was not the cry indicating the presence of enemies; her heart would not have quailed before it as it did now: it was the announcement of the gratification of a long-cherished revenge. Her lover's absence was explained. Only a moment, however, was given to conflicting thoughts. The young girl moved forward, and, as it were, pioneered the others to the quarter from whence the sound proceeded. There was no shrinking in her slight form: she might have been taken for some spirit returned to earth to accomplish some high purpose, unconscious of aught save its own mission.
Passing on to a rock, whence you could see the beautiful valley that spread out before them, the whole story was told in a moment.
Chashé stood as if expecting witnesses; in his bearing there was a frightful exultation that ill accorded with the other circumstances of his position. In his hand he held the knife, from which drops of blood were slowly falling on his dress. He watched them with a savage laugh of delight. His figure seemed taller, by half, in the moonlight, its long shadow fell so darkly over the grass. He was not alone, for easily could all recognise the manly and noble form of the man he hated, at his feet. Well they know that it was death alone that could keep him there. The blood was oozing from his heart: and they could, even at the distance from whence they first saw him, distinguish the marble paleness of his features.
A loud shout now arose from the Indians as they pressed forward. They were divided as to the interest in this scene. The friends of Chashé exulted with him, and those of the other clan called for revenge. It seemed uncertain how the excitement of the crowd would show itself, when it was diverted for a moment by the appearance of We-har-ka. She rapidly slid down the rocks, which it was necessary to pass, in order to reach the two young men. None of them could keep up with her, so quick and shadowy were her movements.