is will!"

Not to the white man, but to the lonely Indian in the hill cleft he
came, and the song that he brought and taught him was of a sorrowing
people seeking their father.

"Father have pity on us! Our souls are hungry for Thee. There is nothing
here to satisfy us Father we bow to Thy will."

By the fire that night they sang, and prayed as the Indian
prays--"Father have pity and guide us." So Quonab sang the new song, and
knew its message was for him.

The stranger went on, for he was a messenger, but Quonab sang again and
again, and then the vision came, as it must, and the knowledge that he
sought.

None saw him go, but ten miles southward on the river he met a hunter
and said: "Tell the wise one that I have heard the new song. Tell him
I have seen the vision. We are of the sunset, but the new day comes. I
must see the land of Mayn Mayano, the dawn-land, where the sun rises out
of the sea."

They saw no more of him. But a day later, Rolf heard of it, and set out
in haste next morning for Albany. Skookum the fourth leaped into the
canoe as he pushed off. Rolf was minded to send him back, but the dog
begged hard with his eyes and tail. It seemed he ought to go, when it
was the old man they sought. At Albany they got news. "Yes, the Indian
went on the steamboat a few days ago." At New York, Rolf made no attempt
to track his friend, but took the Stamford boat and hurried to the old
familiar woods, where he had lived and suffered and wakened as a boy.

There was a house now near the rock that is yet called "Quonab's." From
the tenants he learned that in the stillest hours of the night before,
they had heard the beating of an Indian drum, and the cadence of a chant
that came not from throat of white man's blood.

In the morning when it was light Rolf hastened to the place, expecting
to find at least an Indian camp, where once had stood the lodge. There
was no camp; and as he climbed for a higher view, the Skookum of to-day
gave bristling proof of fear at some strange object there--a man that
moved not. His long straight hair was nearly white, and by his side,
forever still, lay the song-drum of his people.

And those who heard the mournful strains the night before knew now from
Rolf that it was Ouonab come back to his rest, and the song that he sang
was the song of the ghost dance.

"Pity me, Wahkonda. My soul is ever hungry. There is nothing here to
satisfy me, I walk in darkness; Pity me, Wahkondal."