University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

The feast given in honor of their medicine was celebrated
the next day, and Cloudy Sky was thus relieved
of the necessity of wearing mourning for his enemy.

His face was carefully washed of the black paint that
disfigured it; his hair, plentifully greased, was braided and
ornamented. His leggins were new, and his white blanket
was marked according to Indian custom. On it was
painted a black hand, that all might know that he had
killed his enemy. But for all he did not look either young
or handsome, and Harpstenah's young friends were astonished
that she witnessed the preparations for her marriage
with so much indifference.

But she was unconscious alike of their sympathy and
ridicule; her soul was occupied with the reflection that
upon her energy depended her future fate. Never did her
spirit shrink from its appointed task. Nor was she entirely
governed by selfish motives; she believed herself an instrument
in the hand of the gods.

Mechanically she performed her ordinary duties. The
wood was cut and the evening meal was cooked; afterwards
she cut down branches of trees, and swept the wigwam.
In the evening, the villagers had assembled on the
shores of the lake to enjoy the cool air after the heat of the
day.

Hours passed away as gossipping and amusement engaged

them all. At length they entered their teepees to
seek rest, and Harpstenah and her mother were the last at
the door of their teepee, where a group had been seated
on the ground, discussing their own and others' affairs.
“No harm can come to you, my daughter, when you are
the wife of so great a medicine man. If any one hate you
and wish to do you an injury, Cloudy Sky will destroy
their power. Has he not lived with the Thunder Birds,
did he not learn from them to cure the sick, and to destroy
his enemies? He is a great warrior too.”

“I know it, my mother,” replied the girl, “but we have
sat long in the moonlight, the wind that stirred the waters
of the spirit lake is gone. I must sleep, that I may be
ready to dress myself when you call me. My hair must
be braided in many braids, and the strings are not yet
sewed to my mocassins. You too are tired; let us go in
and sleep.”

Sleep came to the mother—to the daughter courage
and energy. Not in vain had she prayed to Haokah the
Giant, to give her power to perform a great deed. Assured
that her parents were sleeping heavily, she rose and sought
the lodge of the medicine man.

When she reached the teepee, she stopped involuntarily
before the door, near which hung, on a pole, the medicine
bag of the old man. The medicine known only to the
clan had been preserved for ages. Sacred had it ever been
from the touch of woman. It was placed there to guard
the medicine man from evil, and to bring punishment on
those who sought to do him harm. Harpstenah's strength
failed her. What was she about to do?

Could she provoke with impunity the anger of the spirits

of the dead? Would not the Great Spirit bring terrible
vengeance upon her head. Ready to sink to the earth
with terror, the words of the fairy of the waters reassured
her. “Can a Dahcotah woman want courage when she is
to be forced to marry a man she hates?”

The tumult within is stilled—the strong beating of
her heart has ceased—her hand is upon the handle of her
knife, as the moonlight falls upon its glittering blade.

Too glorious a night for so dark a deed! See! they are
confronted, the old man and the maiden! The tyrant and
his victim; the slave dealer and the noble soul he had
trafficked for!

Pale, but firm with high resolve, the girl looked for one
moment at the man she had feared—whose looks had
checked her childish mirth, whose anger she had been
taught to dread, even to the sacrificing of her heart's best
hopes.

Restlessly the old man slept; perchance he saw the
piercing eyes that were fixed upon him, for he muttered of
the road to the land of spirits. Listen to him, as he boasts
of the warrior's work.

“Many brave men have made this road. The friend of
the Thunder Birds was worthy. Strike the woman who
would dare assist a warrior. Strike—”

“Deep in his heart she plunged the ready steel,” and as
she drew it out, the life blood came quickly. She alone
heard his dying groan.

She left the teepee—her work was done. It was easy to
wash the stains on her knife in the waters of the lake.

When her mother arose, she looked at the pale countenance
of her daughter. In vain she sought to understand

her muttered words. Harpstenah, as she tried to sleep,
fancied she heard the wild laugh of the water spirits.
Clouds had obscured the moon, and distant thunder rolled
along the sky; and, roused by the clamorous grief of the
many women assembled in the lodge, she heard from
them of the dark tragedy in which she had been the principal
actor.

The murderer was not to be found. Red Deer was
known to be far away. It only remained to bury Cloudy
Sky, with all the honors due to a medicine man.

Harpstenah joined in the weeping of the mourners—the
fountains of a Sioux woman's tears are easily unlocked.
She threw her blanket upon the dead body.

Many were the rich presents made to the inanimate clay
which yesterday influenced those who still trembled lest
the spirit of the dead war-chief would haunt them. The
richest cloth enrobed his body, and, a short distance from
the village, he was placed upon a scaffold.

Food was placed beside him; it would be long before
his soul would reach the city of spirits; his strength would
fail him, were it not for the refreshment of the tender flesh
of the wild deer he had loved to chase, and the cooling
waters he had drank on earth, for many, many winters.

But after the death of Cloudy Sky, the heart of Harpstenah
grew light. She joined again in the ball plays on
the prairies. It needed no vermilion on her cheek to show
the brightness of her eye, for the flush of hope and happiness
was there.

The dark deed was forgotten; and when, in the time
that the leaves began to fall, they prepared the wild rice
for winter's use, Red Deer was at her side.

He was a good hunter, and the parents were old. Red
Deer ever kept them supplied with game—and winter
found her a wife, and a happy one too; for Red Deer
loved her in very truth—and the secret of the death of the
medicine man was buried in their hearts.