The burning spears are an evil omen; They threaten the wrath of a wicked woman, Or a treacherous foe; but my warriors brave, When danger nears, or the foe appears, Are a cloud of arrows--a grove of spears."

"My Father," she said, and her words were low, "Why should I fear? for I soon will go To the broad, blue lodge in the Spirit-land, Where my fond-eyed mother went long ago, And my dear twin-sisters walk hand in hand.

My Father, listen--my words are true,"

And sad was her voice as the whippowil When she mourns her mate by the moon-lit rill, "Wiwaste lingers alone with you; The rest are sleeping on yonder hill-- Save one--and he an undutiful son-- And you, my Father, will sit alone When _Sisoka_[27] sings and the snow is gone.

I sat, when the maple leaves were red, By the foaming falls of the haunted river; The night-sun was walking above my head, And the arrows shone in his burnished quiver; And the winds were hushed and the hour was dread With the walking ghosts of the silent dead.

I heard the voice of the Water-Fairy;[28]

I saw her form in the moon-lit mist, As she sat on a stone with her burden weary, By the foaming eddies of amethyst.

And robed in her mantle of mist the sprite Her low wail poured on the silent night.

Then the spirit spake, and the floods were still-- They hushed and listened to what she said, And hushed was the plaint of the whippowil In the silver-birches above her head: 'Wiwaste, the prairies are green and fair When the robin sings and the whippowil; But the land of the Spirits is fairer still, For the winds of winter blow never there; And forever the songs of the whippowils And the robins are heard on the leafy hills.

Thy mother looks from her lodge above-- Her fair face shines in the sky afar, And the eyes of thy sisters are bright with love, As they peep from the _tee_ of the mother-star.

To her happy lodge in the Spirit land She beckons Wiwaste with shining hand.'

"My Father--my Father, her words were true; And the death of Wiwaste will rest on you.

You have pledged me as wife to the tall Red Cloud; You will take the gifts of the warrior proud; But I, Wakawa,--I answer--never!

I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood, I will plunge and sink in the sullen river Ere I will be wife to the dark Red Cloud!"

"Wiwaste," he said, and his voice was low, "Let it be as you will, for Wakawa's tongue Has spoken no promise;--his lips are slow, And the love of a father is deep and strong.

Be happy, Micunksee;[29] the flames are gone-- They flash no more in the northern sky.

See the smile on the face of the watching moon; No more will the fatal, red arrows fly; For the singing shafts of my warriors sped To the bad spirit's bosom and laid him dead, And his blood on the snow of the North lies red.

Go--sleep in the robe that you won to-day, And dream of your hunter--the brave Chaske."

Light was her heart as she turned away; It sang like the lark in the skies of May.

The round moon laughed, but a lone, red star,[30]

As she turned to the _teepee_ and entered in, Fell flashing and swift in the sky afar, Like the polished point of a javelin.

Nor chief nor daughter the shadow saw Of the crouching listener, Harpstina.

Wiwaste, wrapped in her robe and sleep, Heard not the storm-sprites wail and weep, As they rode on the winds in the frosty air; But she heard the voice of her hunter fair; For a fairy spirit with silent fingers The curtains drew from the land of dreams; And lo in her _teepee_ her lover lingers; In his tender eyes all the love-light beams, And his voice is the music of mountain streams.

And then with her round, brown arms she pressed His phantom form to her throbbing breast, And whispered the name, in her happy sleep, Of her _Hohe_ hunter so fair and far: And then she saw in her dreams the deep Where the spirit wailed, and a falling star; Then stealthily crouching under the trees, By the light of the moon, the _Kan-e-ti-dan_, [31]

The little, wizened, mysterious man, With his long locks tossed by the moaning breeze.

Then a flap of wings, like a thunder-bird, [32]

And a wailing spirit the sleeper heard; And lo, through the mists of the moon, she saw The hateful visage of Harpstina.

But waking she murmured--"And what are these---- The flap of wings and the falling star, The wailing spirit that's never at ease, The little man crouching under the trees, And the hateful visage of Harpstina?

My dreams are like feathers that float on the breeze, And none can tell what the omens are---- Save the beautiful dream of my love afar In the happy land of the tall _Hohe_---- My handsome hunter--my brave Chaske."

[Ill.u.s.tration: BUFFALO CHASE]

_"Ta-tanka! Ta-tanka!"_[33] the hunters cried, With a joyous shout at the break of dawn And darkly lined on the white hill-side, A herd of bison went marching on Through the drifted snow like a caravan.

Swift to their ponies the hunters sped, And dashed away on the hurried chase.

The wild steeds scented the game ahead, And sprang like hounds to the eager race.

But the brawny bulls in the swarthy van Turned their polished horns on the charging foes And reckless rider and fleet footman Were held at bay in the drifted snows, While the bellowing herd o'er the hilltops ran, Like the frightened beasts of a caravan On Sahara's sands when the simoon blows.

Sharp were the tw.a.n.gs of the hunters' bows, And swift and humming the arrows sped, Till ten huge bulls on the b.l.o.o.d.y snows Lay pierced with arrows and dumb and dead.

But the chief with the flankers had gained the rear, And flew on the trail of the flying herd.

The shouts of the riders rang loud and clear, As their foaming steeds to the chase they spurred.

And now like the roar of an avalanche Rolls the bellowing wrath of the maddened bulls They charge on the riders and runners stanch, And a dying steed in the snow drift rolls, While the rider, flung to the frozen ground, Escapes the horns by a panther's bound.

But the raging monsters are held at bay, While the flankers dash on the swarthy rout: With lance and arrow they slay and slay; And the welkin rings to the gladsome shout---- To the loud _Ina's_ and the wild _Iho's_, [34]

And dark and dead, on the b.l.o.o.d.y snows, Lie the swarthy heaps of the buffaloes.

All snug in the _teepee_ Wiwaste lay, All wrapped in her robe, at the dawn of day, All snug and warm from the wind and snow, While the hunters followed the buffalo.

Her dreams and her slumber their wild shouts broke; The chase was afoot when the maid awoke; She heard the tw.a.n.gs of the hunters' bows, And the bellowing bulls and the loud _Iho_'s, And she murmured--"My hunter is far away In the happy land of the tall _Hohe_---- My handsome hunter, my brave Chaske; But the robins will come and my warrior too, And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo."

And long she lay in a reverie, And dreamed, wide-awake, of the brave Chaske, Till a trampling of feet on the crispy snow She heard, and the murmur of voices low:---- Then the warriors' greeting--_Iho! Iho!_ And behold, in the blaze of the risen day, With the hunters that followed the buffalo---- Came her tall, young hunter--her brave Chaske.

Far south has he followed the bison-trail With his band of warriors so brave and true.

Right glad is Wakawa his friend to hail, And Wiwaste will find her a way to woo.

Tall and straight as the larch-tree stood The manly form of the brave young chief, And fair as the larch in its vernal leaf, When the red fawn bleats in the feathering wood.

Mild was his face as the morning skies, And friendship shone in his laughing eyes; But swift were his feet o'er the drifted snow On the trail of the elk or the buffalo, And his heart was stouter than lance or bow, When he heard the whoop of his enemies.

Five feathers he wore of the great Wanmdee And each for the scalp of a warrior slain, When down on his camp from the northern plain, With their murder-cries rode the b.l.o.o.d.y _Cree_.[35]

But never the stain of an infant slain, Or the blood of a mother that plead in vain, Soiled the honored plumes of the brave _Hohe_.

A mountain bear to his enemies, To his friends like the red fawn's dappled form; In peace, like the breeze from the summer seas---- In war, like the roar of the mountain storm.

His fame in the voice of the winds went forth From his hunting grounds in the happy North, And far as the sh.o.r.es of the _Great Mede_ [36]

The nations spoke of the brave Chaske.

Dark was the visage of grim Red Cloud, Fierce were the eyes of the warrior proud, When the chief to his lodge led the brave _Hohe_, And Wiwaste smiled on the tall Chaske.

Away he strode with a sullen frown, And alone in his _teepee_ he sat him down.

From the gladsome greeting of braves he stole, And wrapped himself in his gloomy soul.

But the eagle eyes of the Harpstina The clouded face of the warrior saw.

Softly she spoke to the sullen brave: "Mah-pi-ya Duta--his face is sad; And why is the warrior so glum and grave?

For the fair Wiwaste is gay and glad; She will sit in the _teepee_ the live-long day, And laugh with her lover--the brave _Hohe_ Does the tall Red Cloud for the false one sigh?

There are fairer maidens than she, and proud Were their hearts to be loved by the brave Red Cloud.

And trust not the chief with the smiling eyes; His tongue is swift, but his words are lies; And the proud Mah-pi-ya will surely find That Wakawa's promise is hollow wind.

Last night I stood by his lodge, and lo I heard the voice of the Little Crow; But the fox is sly and his words were low.

But I heard her answer her father--'Never!

I will stain your knife in my heart's red blood, I will plunge and sink in the sullen river, Ere I will be wife to the dark Red Cloud!'

Then he spake again, and his voice was low, But I heard the answer of Little Crow: 'Let it be as you will, for Wakawa's tongue Has spoken no promise--his lips are slow, And the love of a father is deep and strong.'

"Mah-pi-ya Duta, they scorn your love, But the false chief covets the warrior's gifts.

False to his promise the fox will prove, And fickle as snow in _Wo-ka-da-wee_, [37]

That slips into brooks when the gray cloud lifts, Or the red sun looks through the ragged rifts.

Mah-pi-ya Duta will listen to me.

There are fairer birds in the bush than she, And the fairest would gladly be Red Cloud's wife.

Will the warrior sit like a girl bereft, When fairer and truer than she are left, That love Red Cloud as they love their life?

Mah-pi-ya Duta will listen to me.

I love him well--I have loved him long: A woman is weak, but a warrior is strong, And a love-lorn brave is a scorn to see.

"Mah-pi-ya Duta, O listen to me!

Revenge is swift and revenge is strong, And sweet as the hive in the hollow tree; The proud Red Cloud will avenge his wrong.

Let the brave be patient, it is not long Till the leaves be green on the maple tree, And the Feast of the Virgins is then to be-- The Feast of the Virgins is then to be!"

Proudly she turned from the silent brave, And went her way; but the warrior's eyes-- They flashed with the flame of a sudden fire, Like the lights that gleam in the Sacred Cave[38], When the black night covers the autumn skies, And the stars from their welkin watch retire.

Three nights he tarried--the brave Chaske; Winged were the hours and they flitted away; On the wings of _Wakandee_[39] they silently flew, For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.

Ah little he cared for the bison-chase, For the red lilies bloomed on the fair maid's face; Ah little he cared for the winds that blew, For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.

Brown-bosomed she sat on her fox-robe dark, Her ear to the tales of the brave inclined, Or tripped from the _tee_ like the song of a lark, And gathered her hair from the wanton wind.

Ah little he thought of the leagues of snow He trod on the trail of the buffalo; And little he recked of the hurricanes That swept the snow from the frozen plains And piled the banks of the b.l.o.o.d.y River.[40]

His bow unstrung and forgotten hung With his beaver hood and his otter quiver; He sat spell-bound by the artless grace Of her star-lit eyes and her moon-lit face.

Ah little he cared for the storms that blew, For Wiwaste had found her a way to woo.

When he spoke with Wakawa her sidelong eyes Sought the handsome chief in his hunter-guise.

Wakawa marked, and the lilies fair On her round cheeks spread to her raven hair.