University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The Track-maker had added to his fame. He had taken
many scalps, and the Dahcotah maidens welcomed him as
a hero—as one who would no longer refuse to acknowledge
the power of their charms. They asked him eagerly of the
fight—whom he had killed first—but they derived but little
satisfaction from his replies. They found he resisted their
advances, and they left him to his gloomy thoughts.

Every scene he looked upon added to his grief. Memory
clung to him, recalling every word and look of Flying
Shadow. But that last look, could he ever forget it?

He tried to console himself with the thoughts of his
triumph. Alas! her smile was sweeter than the recollection
of revenge. He had waded in the blood of his enemies;
he had trampled upon the hearts of the men he
hated; but he had broken the heart of the only woman he
had ever loved.

In the silence of the night her death-cry sounded in his
ear; and he would start as if to flee from the sound. In
his dreams he saw again that trustful face, that look of
appeal—and then the face of stone, when she saw that she
had appealed in vain.

He followed the chase, but there he could not forget the
battle scene. “Save me! save me!” forever whispered

every forest leaf, or every flowing wave. Often did he hear
her calling him, and he would stay his steps as if he hoped
to meet her smile.

The medicine men offered to cure his disease; but he
knew that it was beyond their art, and he cared not how
soon death came, nor in what form.

He met the fate he sought. A war party was formed
among the Dahcotahs to seek more scalps, more revenge.
But the Track-maker was weary of glory.

He went with the party, and never returned. Like her,
he died in battle; but the death that she sought to avert,
was a welcome messenger to him. He felt that in the
grave all would be forgotten.