Before Densmore could respond, the grandmother again spoke sharply to the girl, which stopped further conversation.
“I think that you had better ‘skiddo’!” said Cogewea. “Stemteemä is growing uneasy of your presence. She says that she has been through smoking long ago, but we have not asked her for the story and now she will not tell it today. To humor her you must hike! Go! She wants to lecture me, I know, or she would not be so anxious for me to remain alone with her. You can feel sorry for me.”
The Easterner would have demurred, but was silenced by a gesture. He left the lodge in a very ill frame of mind. Chagrined and disappointed, he had failed to fathom the girl. It was several minutes after the door-flap closed before the Stemteemä broke silence.
“My grandchild! you talk too much to that pale face. He does not mean right by you! he is having sport with you. He wants to make a fool of you, that all the young people may laugh. You think he has love because he follows you. Not so! He is blinding you with false words. He is here to cheat you; all that any white man wants of the Indian girl. It is only to put her to shame, then cast her aside for his own kind—the pale faced squaw. Do not be foolish! my Cogewea. Do not bring grief to my old age; do not wound my heart. You are too free with all men, especially this strange Shoyahpee. I do not like him! His eye speaks the lie. You must not be so much with him. If his intentions were good, he would want to take you to the priest and marry you. All that the pale faces desire of Indian women, is pleasure and riches. When they get these, they marry back among their own race. I have lived many snows and I see the right way. You have heard my words.”
“My grandmother,” spoke Cogewea after due silence, “do not mistrust me. I have not wronged in dealings with this Shoyahpee. I do not forget your counseling of other suns. I will always remember and I may stumble, but I shall never fall.”
“The young bird needs the protection of its mother’s wing,” rejoined the old woman solemnly, “for the hawk is ever near. I know that you mean right, my grandchild; my heart tells me that. But I dream of you often and my guiding spirits point me the trouble lurking along your way; that this white man is seeking your undoing. You will be wronged! His tongue is forked; his breath is poison. His eye lowers dark with evil. Child of my daughter! be warned! Have care of your actions! be afraid of this stranger! I am old, and I want to die happy. But this can not be if I see you on the desolate trail of a living death. My heart is sick! I can say no more.”
Tears were welling from eyes as yet undimmed by years. The Stemteemä had always been suspicious of the Caucasian, and her long contact with the race had well justified her antipathy. A good judge of character, she distrusted Densmore as a dangerous companion for the impulsive, free-speaking girl under her care. Cogewea was visibly affected when she again vouched safe to speak.
“Now Stemteemä! you misunderstand. I think Alfred is a good man. I have never heard him utter a word that could be termed ungentlemanly. We were only talking about the Okanogans of long ago, when they were married without the priests; in the snows that you once knew.”
“I once heard him say that he gambles. You think that I cannot understand the white man’s language, but I do some of it. A man who gambles will not be a good provider for his family.”
“Please, Stemteemä!” coaxed Cogewea, taking the wrinkled hand in her own, soft and tapering. “Do not be mad at him! He wants to hear stories of long ago, when you were a child. You will tell him some, won’t you? I will translate into his own language.”
The ancient woman pondered long before answering. There was a struggling with memory. With eyes partly closed and gazing into space, her face betrayed no emotion. She had drifted back nearly a century—to childhood days by the rolling tide of the mighty Swa-netk-qah. She again hears the roar and rumble of the great waterfall and the laughter of children playing. She hears the scalp-halloo, announcing the victorious return of the foraying war party. She sees, as the sun sinks in the west, the hunters entering the village, staggering under the spoils of the chase. She sees the women toiling at the river’s edge, stripping and curing the stores of golden salmon. She visions the festive gathering and the dance; the council fire and the winter-evening story telling. All this! then the sombre reality of tribal decadence sweeps a dark and lowering cloud over the silvery dream of the past. The former Princess of the Okanogans starts! passes her hand across her brow and speaks as by inspiration:
“Yes! I will tell this Shoyahpee a tale of the long ago. I will tell him of the coming of the pale face; when the tribes were many and strong. When the warriors were brave and did not turn from the enemy. When the women were true; and virtue like a plumed bird, adorned every maiden’s brow. Yes! I will tell him of the invasion by the despoiler, and of the wasting of my people. Of the dawn of the night which burst on the Okanogans, heavy with the vapors of death, from over the trail of the sunrise, I will speak and you shall interpret my words.”
