“Once more would I tell thee to go back,” said the maiden’s spirit to the young man; “but I know why thou goest with me, and it is well. Only watch me when the day comes, and thou wilt see me no more; but look whither the plume goeth, and follow, for thou knowest that thou must tie it to the hair above my forehead.”
Then the young man took the bright red plume out from among the feathers of sacrifice, and gently tied it above the maiden-spirit’s forehead.
As the light waved up from behind the great mountain the red glow faded out from the grave-sands and the youth looked in vain for the spirit of the maiden; but before him, at the height of one’s hands when standing, waved the light downy feather in the wind of the morning. Then the plume, not the wife, rose before him, like the plumes on the head of a dancer, and moved through the streets that led westward, and down through the fields to the river. And out through the streets that led westward, and down on the trail by the river, and on over the plains always toward the land of evening, the young man followed close the red feather; but at last he began to grow weary, for the plume glided swiftly before him, until at last it left him far behind, and even now and then lost him entirely. Then, as he hastened on, he called in anguish:
“My beautiful bride! My beautiful bride! Oh, where art thou?”
But the plume, not the wife, stopped and waited. And thus the plume and the young man journeyed until, toward evening, they came to the forests of sweet-smelling piñons and cedars. As the night hid the hills in the shadows, alas! the plume disappeared, but the young man pressed onward, for he knew that the plume still journeyed westward. Yet at times he was so weary that he almost lost the strength of his thoughts; for he ran into trees by the trail-side and stumbled over dry roots and branches. So again and again he would call out in anguish: “My beautiful wife! My beautiful bride! Oh, where art thou?”
At last, when the night was divided, to his joy he saw, far away on the hilltop, a light that was red and grew brighter like the light of a campfire’s red embers when fanned by the wind of the nighttime. And like a star that is rising or setting, the red light sat still on the hilltop. So he ran hastily forward, until, as he neared the red light, lo! there sat the spirit of the beautiful maiden; and as he neared her, she said:
“Comest thou?” and “How hast thou come to the evening?”
As she spoke she smiled, and motioned him to sit down beside her. He was so weary that he slept while he talked to her; but, remember, she was a spirit, therefore she slept not.
Just as the morning star came up from the day-land, the maiden rose to journey on, and the young man, awaking, followed her. But as the hills came out of the shadows, the form of the maiden before him grew fainter and fainter, until it faded entirely, and only the red plume floated before him, like the plume on the head of a dancer. Far ahead and fast floated the plume, until it entered a plain of lava filled with sharp crags; yet still it went on, for the maiden’s spirit moved over the barriers as lightly as the down of dead flowers in autumn. But alas! the young man had to seek his way, and the plume again left him far behind, until he was forced to cry out: “Ah, my beautiful bride, do wait for me, for I love thee, and will not turn from thee!” Then the plume stopped on the other side of the crags and waited until the poor young man came nearer, his feet and legs cut and bleeding, and his wind almost out. Then the trail was more even, and led through wide plains; but even thus the young man could scarce keep the red plume in sight. But at night the maiden awaited him in a sheltered place, and they rested together beneath the cedars until daylight. Then again she faded out in the daylight, and the red plume led the way.
For a long time the trail was pleasant, but toward evening they came to a wide bed of cactus, and the plume passed over as swiftly as ever, but the young man’s moccasins were soon torn and his feet and legs cruelly lacerated with the cactus spines; yet still he pursued the red plume until the pain seemed to sting his whole body, and he gasped and wailed: “Ah, my beautiful wife, wait for me; do wait, for I love thee and will not leave thee!” Then the plume stopped beyond the plain of cactus and waited until he had passed through, but not longer, for ere he had plucked all the needles of the cactus from his bleeding feet, it floated on, and he lifted himself up and followed until at evening the maiden again waited and bade him “Sit down and rest.”
That night she seemed to pity him, and once more spoke to him: “Yo á! My lover, my husband, turn back, oh, turn back! for the way is long and untrodden, and thy heart is but weak and is mortal. I go to the Council of Dead Ones, and how can the living there enter?”
But the youth only wept, and begged that she let him go with her. “For, ah,” said he, “my beautiful wife, my beautiful bride, I love thee and cannot turn from thee!”
And she smiled only and shook her head sadly as she replied: “Yo á! It shall be as thou willest. It may be thy heart
