s of
everything save the spectacle before him, the embodied representation of
features which events of former years had painted in indelible hues on
his remembrance. The face was that of a warrior, worn with years, and
covered with such scars as could be boasted only by one of the most
distinguished men of the tribe. Deep seams also marked the naked chest of
the sleeper; and there was something in the appearance of his garments of
dressed hides, which, though squalid enough, were garnished with
multitudes of silver brooches and tufts of human hair, with here and
there a broad Spanish dollar looped ostentatiously to the skin, to prove
he was anything but a common brave. To each ear was attached a string of
silver coins, strung together in regular gradation from the largest to
the smallest,--a profusion of wealth which could appertain only to a
chief. To prove, indeed, that he was no less, there was visible upon his
head, secured to the tiara, or _glory_, as it might be called (for such
is its figure) of badgers' hairs, which is so often found woven around
the scalp-lock of a North-western Indian, an ornament consisting of the
beaks and claws of a buzzard, and some dozen or more of its sable
feathers. These, as Nathan had previously told the soldier, were the
distinguishing badges of Wenonga, or the Black-Vulture (for so the name
is translated); and it was no less a man than Wenonga himself, the
oldest, most famous, and, at one time, the most powerful chief of his
tribe, who thus lay, a wretched, squalid sot, before the doors of his own
wigwam, which he had been unable to reach. Such was Wenonga; such were
many of the bravest and most distinguished of his truly unfortunate race,
who exchanged their lands, their fathers' graves, and the lives of their
people, for the doubtful celebrity which the white man is so easily
disposed to allow them.

The spy looked upon the face of the Indian; but there was none at hand
to gaze upon his own, to mark the hideous frown of hate, and the more
hideous grin of delight, that mingled on, and distorted his visage, as
he gloated, snake-like, over that of the chief. As he looked, he drew
from its sheath in his girdle his well-worn, but still bright and keen
knife,--which he poised in one hand, while feeling, with what seemed
extraordinary fearlessness or confidence of his prey, with the other
along the sleeper's naked breast, as if regardless how soon he might
wake. But Wenonga still slept o