When I awoke, the dawn was coming, and the stars were beginning to turn pale. There was a gentle stir in the tent near by; a tall man came out, and his shadowy form passed from view into the slowly rising mist. A woman moved noiselessly to the fireplace, and, bending over, began to gather the embers together, blowing them to life with her breath. The gray streak along the horizon slowly turned to a rosy hue; here and there the birds began drowsily to peep and twitter, then, when the sun shot its rays through the heavens, a thousand voices burst into rapturous song.
My companions awoke, and one by one we climbed down the rude ladder to the ground.
When we gathered for breakfast, the mother, as she helped the food, asked, “Where is Na-zheʻ-de-ah?”9
Warren and I looked at each other; neither of us could explain his absence.
“Call him,” said the good woman, addressing her son; “we must hurry, the sun is up!”
No response came to the young man’s call. It was evident that Lester had slipped away before anyone was awake.
Breakfast over, Me-chahʻ-pe and his sons saddled and packed the horses, while the wife and daughter gathered the various utensils. Warren and I tried to make ourselves useful by holding up the packs with our shoulders, as they ware being placed on the horses.
Me-chahʻ-pe looked at Warren, then at me, as he shouldered his rifle, and said, “I am sorry that I have not enough horses for all of us to ride. You see those I have are heavily burdened; so we will have to do as our fathers did, take one step forward, then another, and keeping stepping forward until we get to the place where we are going. Are we ready? Here we go!”
And we did go—horses, dogs, and all. Soon we were joined by the man of the lonely sod house and his family, and together we made quite a cavalcade as we went up hill and down hill, and up hill and down hill again. By and by, we reached a long ridge, called by the Indians “the tortuous ridge,” which zigzagged in a westerly direction, and along it lay the hunting trail.
The sun grew hot; Warren and I were drenched with perspiration as we plodded on. Every now and then Me-chahʻ-pe gave us an encouraging word, when we showed signs of lagging. We were determined to keep on, for were we not going to a buffalo hunt! The heat increased. The dogs did not now chase each other and run after birds as when we started out, but let loose their tongues and panted, keeping close to the shadows of the horses. On we all trudged, while the one baby slept on its mother’s back, its little head rocking from side to side with the motion of her steps.
As we reached an elevated point on the ridge, Me-chahʻ-pe shaded his face with his hand and scanned the horizon. Far ahead of us his experienced eye caught sight of an object, like a mere speck. He pointed it out to us, saying, “There’s somebody coming.”
Warren and I looked at each other in alarm, and then kept our eyes on the speck, which grew larger and larger as the distance between it and us lessened.
“The horse looks like one of your father’s,” said Me-chahʻ-pe to me. “I think it is someone looking for you!”
My heart sank when I recognized the horse as father’s, and the rider as my uncle, and, for the first time in my life, I was not glad to meet him.
Warren and I were captured, and there was no escape. We tried to be brave when Me-chahʻ-pe shook hands with us, as his party moved westward; but we were far from happy when, ignominiously mounted on father’s horse, one behind the other, we followed my uncle, who walked so rapidly that the animal had to trot now and then to keep up. The road over which we had so laboriously travelled on our outward way was soon retraced, and the sun still high when my uncle, who had wandered all night in search of us, turned us over to Graybeard.
It was thought best to punish us; so Warren was taken to the top of the house and locked up in the attic, where he was to reflect upon the wrong he had committed in running away. But I am quite sure he thought more about the devil and the ghosts in that horrid place than of anything else.
As for me, I was marched to the dining-room, placed with my back to one of the posts, and my arms brought around it and tied; then I was left alone in this uncomfortable position—to repent.
The afternoon was close and hot; the windows and doors were open, but the place was very quiet. Now and then I heard the cry of a bird, or the laughter of the happy wren. The time seemed very long as I stood there, with my arms thrown back around the post and my hands tied so that I could not defend myself against the flies that attacked my bare feet. A rooster came to the back door and entered the dining-room. He shied on discovering me; but, as I did not move, he began picking in the cracks of the floor. He spied my toe, looked at it curiously, turning his head from side to side, then stretched his neck and gave it a dab. I was in no mood to be amused by his
