red,--not such red as
the Indian paints when he goes to war, but such as the Master of Life
gives to the flower which grows among thorns. Her eyes shone like the
star which never moves. Her step was like that of the deer when it is
a little scared.

The Head Buffalo said to the council--

"This is my prisoner. I fought hard for her. Three warriors, tall,
strong, and painted, three pale men, armed with red lightning, stood
at her side. Where are they now? I bore her away in my arms, for fear
had overcome her. When night came on I wrapped skins around her, and
laid her under the leafy branches of the tree to keep off the cold,
and kindled a fire, and watched by her till the sun rose. Who will
say she shall not live with the Head Buffalo, and be the mother of his
children?"

Then the Old Eagle got up, but he could not walk strong, for he was
the oldest warrior of his tribe, and had seen the flowers bloom many
times, the infant trees of the forest die of old age, and the friends
of his boyhood laid in the dust. He went to the woman, laid his hands
on her head, and wept. The other warriors, who had lost their kindred
and sons in the war with the Walkullas, shouted and lamented. The
woman also wept.

"Where is the Young Eagle?" asked the Old Eagle of the Head Buffalo.
The other warriors, in like manner, asked for their kindred who had
been killed.

"Fathers, they are dead," answered the warrior. "The Head Buffalo has
said they are dead, and he never lies. But let my fathers take
comfort. Who can live for ever? The foot of the swift step and the
hand of the stout bow become feeble. The eye grows dim, and the heart
of many days quails at the fierce glance of warriors. 'Twas better
they should die like brave men in their youth than become old men and
faint."

"We must have revenge," they all cried. "We will not listen to the
young warrior who pines for the daughter of the sun."

Then they began to sing a mournful song. The strange woman wept. Tears
rolled down her cheeks, and she often looked up to the house of the
Great Spirit and spoke, but none could understand her. All the time
the Old Eagle and the other warriors begged that she should be burned
to revenge them.

"Brothers and warriors," said Chenos, "our sons did wrong when they
broke in upon the sacred dance the Walkullas made to their god, and he
lent his thunder to the strange warriors. Let us not draw down his
vengeance further by doing we know not what. Le