The Little Red Foot Part 81

"You seem to be friends with that outlaw. And do you know where he now is?" I asked carelessly.

"If I do," says the s.l.u.t, with an oath, "it is my own affair and none of the Forbes or Drogues or such kittle-cattle either;--mark that, my young c.o.c.kerel, and journey about your business!"

"You are not very civil, Madame Staats."

"Why, you d.a.m.ned rebel," says she, "would you teach me manners?"

"G.o.d forbid, madam," said I, smiling. "I'd wear gray hairs ere you learned your a-b-c."

"You'll wear no hair at all when McDonald is done with you," she cries, and bursts into laughter so shocking that I go on, shivering and sad to see in any woman such unkindness.

About noon I saw Lawyer's Tavern; and from the fences north of the house I secretly observed it for a long while before venturing thither.

John Lawyer, whatever his political complexion, welcomed me kindly and gave me dinner.

I asked news, and he gave an account that Brick House was now but a barracks full of Tories and Schoharie Indians, led by Sethen and Little David or Ogeyonda, a runner, who now took British money and wore scarlet paint.

"We in this valley know not what to do," said he, "nor dare, indeed, do aught save take protection from the stronger party, as it chances to be at the moment, and thank G.o.d we still wear our proper hair."

And, try as I might, I could not determine to which party he truly belonged, so wary was mine host and so fearful of committing himself.

The sun hung low when I came to the Wood of Brakabeen; and saw the tall forest oaks, their tops all rosy in the sunset, and the great green pines wearing their gilded spires against the evening sky.

Dusk fell as I traversed the wood, where, deep within, a cool and ferny glade runs east and west, and a small and icy stream flows through the nodding gra.s.ses of the swale, setting the wet green things and spray-drenched blossoms quivering along its banks.

And here, suddenly, in the purple dusk, three Indians rose up and barred my way. And I saw, with joy, my three Oneidas, Tahioni the Wolf, Kwiyeh the Screech-owl, Hanatoh the Water-snake, all shaven, oiled, and in their paint; and all wearing the Tortoise and The Little Red Foot.

So deeply the encounter affected me that I could scarce speak as I pressed their extended hands, one after another, and felt their eager, caressing touch on my arms and shoulders.

"Brother," they said, "we are happy to be chosen for the scout under your command. We are contented to have you with us again.

"We were told by the Saguenay, who pa.s.sed here on his way to the Little Falls, that you had recovered of your hurts, but we are glad to see for ourselves that this is so, and that our elder brother is strong and well and fit once more for the battle-trail!"

I told them I was indeed recovered, and never felt better than at that moment. I inquired warmly concerning each, and how fortune had treated them. I listened to their accounts of stealthy scouting, of ambushes in silent places, of death-duels amid the eternal dusk of s.h.a.ggy forests, where sunlight never penetrated the matted roof of boughs.

They shewed me their scalps, their scars, their equipment, accoutrement, finery. They related what news was to be had of the enemy, saying that Stanwix was already invested by small advance parties of Mohawks under forester officers; that trees had been felled across Wood Creek; that the commands of Gansevoort and Willett occupied the fort on which soldiers still worked to sod the parapets.

Of McDonald, however, they knew nothing, and nothing concerning Burgoyne, but they had brazenly attended the Iroquois Federal Council, when their nation was summoned there, and saw their great men, Spencer and Skenandoa treated with cold indifference when the att.i.tude of the Oneida nation was made clear to the Indian Department and the Six Nations.

"Then, brother," said Tahioni sadly, "our sachems covered themselves in their blankets, and Skenandoa led them from the last Onondaga fire that ever shall burn in North America."

"And we young warriors followed," added Kwiyeh, "and we walked in silence, our hands resting on our hatchets."

"The Long House is breaking in two," said the Water-snake. "In the middle it is sinking down. It sags already over Oneida Lake. The serpent that lives there shall see it settling down through the deep water to lie in ruins upon the magic sands forever."

After a decent silence Tahioni patted the Little Red Foot sewed on the breast of my hunting shirt.

"If we all are to perish," he said proudly, "they shall respect our scalps and our memory. Haih! Oneida! We young men salute our dying nation."

I lifted my hatchet in silence, then slowly sheathed it.

"Is our Little Maid of Askalege well?" I asked.

"Thiohero is well. The River-reed makes magic yonder in the swale," said Tahioni seriously.

"Is Thiohero here?" I exclaimed.

Her brother smiled: "She is a girl-warrior as well as our Oneida prophetess. Skenandoa respects and consults her. Spencer, who worships your white G.o.d and is still humble before Tharon, has said that my sister is quite a witch. All Oneidas know her to be a sorceress. She can make a pair of old moccasins jump about when she drums."

"Where is she now?"

"Yonder in the glade dancing with the fire-flies."

I walked forward in the luminous dusk, surrounded by my Oneidas. And, of a sudden, in the swale ahead I saw sparks whirling up in clouds, but perceived no fire.

"Fire-flies," whispered Tahioni.

And now, in the centre of the turbulent whirl of living sparks, I saw a slim and supple shape, like a boy warrior stripped for war, and dancing there all alone amid the gold and myriad greenish dots of light eddying above the swale gra.s.s.

Swaying, twisting, graceful as a thread of smoke, the little sorceress danced in a perfect whirlwind of fire-flies, which made an incandescent cloud enveloping her.

And I heard her singing in a low, clear voice the song that timed the rhythm of her naked limbs and her painted body, from which the cinctured wampum-broidered sporran flew like a shower of jewels:

"Wood o' Brakabeen, Hiahya!

Leaves, flowers, gra.s.ses green, Dancing where you lean Above the stream unseen, Hiahya!

Dance, little fireflies, Like shooting stars in winter skies; Dance, little fireflies, As the Oneida Dancers whirl, Where silver clouds unfurl, Revealing a dark Heaven And Sisters Seven.

Hiahya! Wood o' Brakabeen!

Hiahya! Gra.s.ses green!

You shall tell me what they mean Who ride hither, Who 'bide thither, Who creep unseen In red coats and in green; Who come this way, Who come to slay!

Hiahya! my fireflies!

Tell me all you know About the foe!

Where hath he hidden?

Whither hath he ridden?

Where are the Maquas in their paint, Who have forgotten their Girl-Sainte?[37]

Hiahya!

I am The River-Reed!

Hiahya!

All things take heed!

Naked, without drum or mask I do my magic task.

Fireflies, tell me what I ask!..."

[Footnote 37: Catherine. Her shrine is at Auriesville--the Lourdes of America--where many miraculous cures are effected.]

"He-he!" chuckled The Water-snake, "Thiohero is quite a witch!"