not still safe and a
refuge for all unfortunates among the nations?"

"Where Muck-otey-pokee laughed by the waterside, there is now a heap
of ruins. The river that danced in the sunlight is red with the blood
of the slain and of all the lodges wherein we dwelt, not one remains!"

"My brother! Surely, much brooding has made you distraught. Such
cannot be. There were warriors, hundreds of them in the settlement and
before their arrows the pale-faces fall like trees before the
woodman's axe."

"If the arrows are not in the quiver, can the warrior shoot? Against
the man who steals up in the rear, can one be prepared? It was a
short, sharp battle. The innocent fell with the guilty, and the earth
receives them all. Where Muck-otey-pokee stood is a blackened waste.
Those who survived have fled, to seek new homes wherever they may find
them. In her pathways the dead faces stare into the sky as even yet,
among the sandhills, lie and stare the unburied dead of the Fort
Dearborn massacre. It is fate. It is nature. It is the game of life.
To-day one wins, to-morrow another. In the end, for all--is death."

For a while after that, Wahneenah neither moved nor spoke, and the
Black Partridge lapsed into another profound silence. Finally, the
woman rose, and going to the fireplace, took handsful of its ashes and
strewed them upon her head and face. Then she drew her blanket over
her features, and thus, hiding her sorrow even from the witness of the
night, she sat down again in her place and became at once as rigid
and impassive as her brother.

Thus the morning found them. Despite their habit of wandering from
point to point, the village of Muck-otey-pokee was the rallying-place
of the Pottawatomies, their home, the ancient burial-ground of their
dead. Its destruction meant, to the far-seeing Black Partridge, also
the destruction of his tribe. Therefore, as he had said, his spirit
was broken within him.

But at the last he rose to depart, and still fasting. With the
solemnity of one who parted from her forever, he addressed the veiled
Wahneenah and bade her:

"Put aside the grief that palsies, and find joy in the children whom
the Great Spirit has sent you. They also are homeless and orphaned.
There are left now no white soldiers to harry and distress. This
cavern is warmer than a wigwam, and there is store of food for many
more than three. Remain here until the springtime and by then I may
return. I go now to my brother Gomo,