The grandmother did not answer. A strange light came into the piercing eyes as she gazed unperturbed at the fire, sending its sparks up the open smoke-flue. The frail hand slipped from the stronger grasp; the furrowed face was set and stern, as she slowly turned to the despised pale face. Covertly she reread the sordid character which others seemed not to understand. And as she remained in seeming stoic indifference, Cogewea made another appeal:
“Oh! my Stemteemä! I love him so! Can you not tell me that it is well? I know that you do not like the Shoyahpee, but it is your own Cogewea who pleads!”
The voice of the aged woman was vibrant with maternal solicitude as she spoke:
“My Cogewea thinks too well of the pale faced man to know her own mind. Her judgment is sick. I am afraid to say that it is good.”
“Strong love brings happiness in marriage, filling all the home with joy,” urged the girl. “We would not yet go to the priest’s for some time; for several sundowns. I have studied my own mind. Why should you be afraid?”
“There are voices in the night and I have heard! Your white father went away; he cared not for his children. It is a debt to your dead mother that I guard you while life remains in me. It is for your own benefit that I do not want you to marry this Shoyahpee. I can feel—I know he means wrong by you. He has blinded your eyes and you can not see that his heart is bad. I can not bear that in time he will grow tired of you and cast you aside for some pale faced squaw as the many have done in the past. Your fate would be that of my princess aunt! A spirit weeps when a budding flower is crushed.”
Save for the scarce audible purr of the low blazing fire, the ensuing stillness was overburdening. When Cogewea again pressed her suit, it was but half-heartedly:
“I know that the Stemteemä’s judgment is always good, but I cannot think the Shoyahpee bad. If I only knew! Oh! why is there evil in the world?”
The reply of the Stemteemä was earnest and pathetically appealing:
“Remember the sorrow of my poor friend, Green-blanket Feet! No! my child! Anything else. I would willingly give my remaining snows, if it would add to your happiness; but to consent to this marriage which will bring heart aches and ruin to you, I can not! I am afraid to see a bright star within the lodge of the night-sun.”52
The girl shrank back into the shadows to hide her tears of disappointment. The ancient woman rose to her feet, the light of prophesy on her brow. With arms uplifted as if to ward off an impending blow, she continued:
“I have consulted the spirits and I have seen in a dream that the morning of the sunlit trail my Cogewea would choose, is short and shadowy. But its evening reaches far into the wintry night of desolation, where the vision is vague. I behold the flowers withered by a midsummer frost and the grasses scorched as by fire. The song of the wood-bird trills on my ear with sadness and the murmur of the waters are fraught with grief. The young doe, torn by the blood appeased cougar, flees helpless and forlorn. O my grandchild! Heed the warning of the Stemteemä and avoid the Shoyahpee as you would the coiled rattlesnake.”
The venerable squaw sank to her robes, showing no visible perturbation. Cogewea sat rigid, seemingly oblivious of her surroundings. Several moments elapsed before the stillness was broken. It was Densmore who spoke:
“Well! what did she say?”
“Just as I thought,” answered the girl listlessly. “The Stemteemä has had a vision which troubles her. She has refused.”
“Refused!” he exclaimed in a tone of marked surprise and ill-concealed chagrin. “In‑deed! And why has she refused?”
“You are a Shoyahpee! She has no confidence in the white man. Her ‘no’ is final. It is useless to—”
“Cogewea!” broke in the suitor abruptly. “If I could only convince you that I mean right by you. Why listen to the idle prattle of a childish and ignorant old squaw?”
“Go! forked tongued Shoyahpee! A trapper of women! Go! go! go!”
The arm of the old grandmother was outstretched, pointing sternly to the blanketed doorway. A wave of anger and fierce resentment came to the baffled man as he gained his feet. For an instant he glared at the determined woman, so scornfully indicating the exit. Silently he left the teepee, humiliated; but more determined than ever in his designs.
“The accursed she-savage!” he muttered as he gained the outer air, grinding his teeth in impotent rage. “To order me from her beggar’s hovel, as if I were a dog! The root eating old squaw! Looking down on the white man who has ever made a plaything of her race! Bear witness! ye everlasting hills! I will get even with this proud nest of mixed vipers, if it takes half a life time! Beware! Mother Buzzard!” he hissed, shaking a clenched hand at the shadowy lodge. “I will yet pluck your dear fledgling and return it to you so soiled that your own foul wing will refuse it shelter! You have yet to learn that the master courts not favor of his slaves!”
Snarling, and coyote-like, he slunk into the blackness of the night.
“Stemteemä!” pleaded Cogewea. “You have crushed my heart. Can you not change your mind? Can you not like him just a little bit for my sake?”
“The wind
