12 The Wild People

The Dakota warriors made no demonstration, but Will knew that their joy at his recovery was great. The best of the food was offered to him, and he took it without hesitation, knowing that he would please them by doing so. While he ate, Inmu told what had happened to them. When he and Waditaka parted before the big rock, the Lynx turned to the right and was caught in a snow slide which carried him a considerable distance down the mountain. He rejoined his comrades with much difficulty, and finding no trace of Waditaka’s trail they thought that he, too, had gone down the same way. Positive in the belief they had wandered farther and farther from the great well into which he had fallen. Finally they had returned on their trail, and, during the fierce snow storm, had looked into the valley in which he was a prisoner, but seeing nothing there, save a deluge of falling snow and the impossibility of descending into it, they had gone in the other direction again, believing that he had been lost under an avalanche, but cherishing a faint hope that he might be alive, and seeking they turned toward the east.

“And what of yourself, Waditaka?” said the wise Roka in a deep voice. “Your face tells me that strange adventures have befallen you.”

“Aye, Roka,” said he, “adventures so strange and dangers so great that I could not have overcome them had not I been aided by the spirit of the two elements, greatest and most friendly to man.”

“Which do you mean, Waditaka?”

“Fire and Water, O, wise Roka.”

Then he told his story to the Dakota with all the power of imagination, and certainty of belief, and they, listening with eager curiosity, had implicit faith in every word he said. The circle about him never interrupted, but he heard many a long breath and sigh of approval.

“A warrior who trusts the good spirits,” said the wise Roka, when he had done, “has more to rely upon than mere weapons. When bow and arrow and tomahawk and knife fail, then the spirits may come to the help of one whose heart is true. In your great peril, Waditaka, you called upon Peta and Mini, and they did not fail you.”

“They did not, Roka. I did but little myself. I avow it here before you all. I was saved by Fire and Water. Have you and the band suffered much while you were looking for me?”

“But little. Peta and Mini were ours to command whenever we needed them, and Can (Wood) was always lying around for the taking. And now that you have eaten and rested we will start once more on the great journey.”

But at the end of a day’s march they came to such a pleasant country that they decided to spend a while there, replenishing their supplies of food and making new arrows. Roka and Pehansan insisted that the warriors should not only maintain the number of their shafts but increase them. They had an idea that when they crossed the next range they might come among men, and, among wild men, strangers were always enemies. Hitherto, they had fought only with wild beasts, fierce and dangerous though the latter were, but since they were likely to meet human foes their caution and preparation must be redoubled.

“What people do you think we are likely to meet beyond the mountain?” asked Hoton.

“Indians like ourselves,” replied Roka; “but of what nation I know not, though it is certain they will not belong to any tribe of the Dakota. It is the misfortune of our race that we should always be fighting one another and we cannot expect to escape it here.”

“Let them come with their bows and their arrows and their lances!” chanted the valiant boaster. “They will attack because they do not know that Hoton is in the band, Hoton, the great runner, Hoton, the great archer, Hoton, the great hunter, Hoton, the great warrior!”

“A great runner, Hoton,” said Inmu, “may run as fast from the enemy as toward him.”

“But I look only one way, Inmu. My face is always turned toward the foe. I bid you now, when the battle comes, to follow me and do what I do, as well as you can. Then you will learn how to become a great warrior.”

“I promise, Hoton.”

Game was abundant and spring had advanced so much in this sheltered portion of the deep valley that the trees were in full foliage, wonderful cones of the most vivid green, wild flowers nestled in every hidden place, and there were great red banks of early berries, very welcome to the young warriors, who feasted upon them, varying their perpetual diet of game.

“Later on, we will find many wild fruits,” said Hoton, with enthusiasm, “and I will show you where they are. I always lead the way to what is good.”

Will thought it likely that Hoton might be true to his word. He had a wonderful facility in finding his way toward the edible, but for a while they were concerned more about the living creatures they were likely to meet. On the second day after they left the pleasant places they made a discovery that startled them. It was Inmu’s keen eyes that alighted upon it, the faint trace of a human footstep, an old imprint made by a moccasin. The ten gathered around it in a circle and studied it. They recognized its full import. Human beings were or had been in this valley and they might be near now. It was wholly likely that they would have to fight fierce human foes, before they reached the great buffalo plains of the north.

There was no trail, as time had faded all the other imprints. This alone, sunk deeper than the others, remained to tell them a warrior had passed.

“It is not probable that one man only has been here,” said the wise Roka. “Warriors from the east would come only in a band and they may be hunters, but, whether hunters or not, they will be no friends to the Dakota. Now we must stay close together. No one must leave the party unless he is sent on special duty. Ten we left, and ten we wish to return.”

They went very slowly now, in Indian file, and in the usual order, and, late in the afternoon, they came upon the ashes of an old camp, made perhaps a week gone by, but the Dakota, with their almost superhuman skill at reading every sign, knew with certainty that about a dozen warriors had been present, and that the moccasins worn by them were not known to the Dakota tribe. They were broader and flatter than those of the nations farther south.

“They may be directly ahead of us,” said Roka, “and if so they will give us trouble.”

“And if so,” said Hinyankaga, otherwise the Owl, “have we not many shafts and do we not know how to shoot them straight and hard? Are ten men of the Dakota, the greatest of all the red races, afraid of twenty men of any other race?”

Roka smiled. He was not at all displeased. He liked enthusiasm on the part of his young men. It was easier to keep it within proper limits than to create zeal where there was none. But the wise leader knew the value of prudence.

“It is true,” he said, “that a Dakota band would never fear twice its numbers, but we did not come upon this great journey merely to fight. If we should go back to the village and the chief, Xingudan, should say to me, ‘Where is Hinyankaga?’ and I should have to reply to him, ‘We buried him in the unknown mountains after a battle with the wild warriors of the north,’ Xingudan would not like it, nor would I. We will camp tonight without a fire and the warriors whom I put on watch must keep guard with all their eyes and ears.”

There was no protest from the young men, as they knew that Roka was right, and, even if they had not known it, they would not have objected, as Roka, however wise and kindly, was a stern leader who would not allow his commands to be disobeyed. The camp was chosen at nightfall in an open grove, by the side of a small stream, and they made their supper of cold food. Inmu and Tatokadan kept the first watch of four hours, and, obedient to the instructions of their leader, they watched with eyes, ears and the faculty of the Indian in the forest, which may almost be called divination, that is, a rapid and correct inference from small signs that others might not notice. But nothing happened. They were succeeded by Tarinca and the buoyant Wanmdi. Wanmdi’s mind always floated aloft in a light and gay manner, just as the eagle, after which he was named, sailed easily and naturally on high.

Wanmdi felt particularly happy because they had recovered Waditaka, whom they all liked and whom they had all mourned as dead, and because, foreseeing action, his warrior soul was pleased. He had instantly translated the faint footstep in the turf into a powerful band that meant to attack them, and the old campfire had made it a certainty to him. The attack could not come too soon to please his sanguine mind. He was a Dakota, a member of the mighty red nation of the west, and the hostile tribes, roaming about in the far north, were inferior peoples. He looked down upon them haughtily.

“Do you think they will await us in an ambush?” he said to the pious Tarinca.

“Manitou alone knows,” replied the Deer, “and he veils the knowledge from us. We can do nothing, Wanmdi, but watch and wait.”

“And have our bows and arrows and our tomahawks and knives ready. It is they that serve the warrior.”

“It is true, Wanmdi, if Manitou so wills it. But if Manitou does not put his blessing on our cause then all the bows and arrows and tomahawks in the world will avail us nothing.”

Wanmdi did not dispute it. Like all the Dakota he had the greatest respect for the medicine man and Tarinca, who thought so much about the spirits, which are everywhere, would certainly be a mighty medicine man some day. In truth, a little awe was mingled with his esteem for Tarinca.

“Then you believe, Tarinca,” he said, “that it was not his own skill, but the will of Manitou, that brought Waditaka back to us?”

“I know it, Wanmdi. Waditaka knows it, too, and says so. Was it his bow and arrows, was it his tomahawk or his knife that protected him while he slept in the sealed valley? It was none of them. It was Peta. Nor did they show him the way out. It was Mini. All the courage of all the warriors in the world would not have made Waditaka see the hidden passage, but Mini, flowing smoothly and singing on the way, showed it to him. And who and what are Peta and Mini? They are but instruments in the hands of Manitou, who ordered them to save Waditaka. Weapons are not all, Wanmdi.”

“I know it, Tarinca. I know that the chief who makes good medicine is often more powerful than the one who leads in battle. But did you hear anything moving among the bushes to our right?”

“The wind is stirring there a little, Wanmdi, but I thought I heard something else, as the young new leaves rustled together. I am glad the bushes are beyond arrow shot of us.”

“The wise Roka would not have pitched a camp in any other way.”

“That is true, but I think I hear again the slight sound that is not the sound of the new young leaves rubbing together. Neither is it Warankxi, nor Inmutanka, nor yet Xunktokeca. I think it is Ikcewicaxta (savages) in the bush.”

“Ikcewicaxta it surely is.”

It was wholly typical of both of them, proud members of the Dakota race, to speak of the Indians of this wild northern land as “savages,” and what is more, they thought it.

“Shall we awake Roka?” asked Wanmdi. “Perhaps he will lead us in battle, if they are in the bush. Do you think Roka would let us go into battle now?”

The pious Tarinca smiled. He appreciated the zeal of Wanmdi, but he knew also the prudence of Roka.

“I reply ‘no’ to both your questions,” he said. “Roka would not let us attack in the dark, because we might run into an ambush, and we need not awake him since we can wait in patience and safety to see what the Ikcewicaxta do, as long as they are beyond bowshot. I can see they will not attack, for their numbers are not great enough. Look, Wanmdi, did you not see the low green bush with the heavy foliage move?”

“Yes, Tarinca, and, while the wind is blowing toward the north, it bent to the south.”

“Which proves that one of the Ikcewicaxta is behind it. It proves also that he is a fool. Did he think to bend a bush against the wind before the eyes of a Dakota, and that the Dakota would not notice it?”

“He is truly a fool, as you say, Tarinca. But what else could you expect of the Ikcewicaxta? That is why they are the Ikcewicaxta.”

“I can see more bushes moving now, Wanmdi. At least four or five of the Ikcewicaxta are in the thicket, eager to attack us, but afraid.”

“Shall I send an arrow at random into the bushes, Tarinca? It might strike a target among those spying upon the Dakota, who are seeking to harm nobody.”

“No, Wanmdi. The wise Roka would not like it. We are not to seek a quarrel with anybody. If the Ikcewicaxta wish to spy upon us let them spy, but if they attack that is another matter.”

But the young Eagle found it hard to control his warlike impulses. His hand moved restlessly along the string of his bow, and every arrow in his quiver was eager to leap forth and fit itself to the string. He knew, however, that Tarinca was right, and the two, standing close to the trunk of a great oak, where the night shadows blended them with its bark, continued to watch the bending bushes. There was no fear in the heart of either. The proud Dakota had never heard of any warriors to the north of them who were the equal of their valiant selves, and, if these inferior peoples felt like attacking, Tarinca and Wanmdi awaited the onset with full confidence in their band.

The bushes ceased to shake by-and-by, though the leaves still rustled lightly under the west wind. But the keen eyes of the Deer and the Eagle noted that the leaves bent the way the wind blew.

“They are gone?” said Wanmdi.

“It seems so,” said Tarinca, “but to make sure we will search the bushes now.”

They approached very cautiously, bows strung, and crossed the thicket from side to side. Nobody was there, but they noticed broken and bruised stems in several places, and they knew they had not been mistaken. They could not look any farther, as they had to maintain the watch, and they returned to the camp, where they remained vigilant sentinels until dawn.

“Has it been peace through your watch?” asked the wise Roka, as he awoke and stood up.

“There has been peace,” replied Tarinca, “but it was only a peace with a threat in it.”

“What mean you, Tarinca?”

“The Ikcewicaxta were in the thicket, spying upon us. Wanmdi and I did not see them, but we saw the bushes moving against the wind, and we saw afterward bruised stems where they had passed.”

“Then, since the day has come and no ambush is possible, we will look again.”

Half of the band, Roka at its head, went fearlessly into the thicket, and, in the brilliant sunlight of the early morning, they were able to trace the imprints of numerous feet. Beyond the thicket they merged into a trail that led into the forest, but the Dakota did not follow it far. Roka felt only contempt for those who had prowled by night about his camp.

“They are truly the Ikcewicaxta,” he said. “Dakota spying upon their enemy would not have left such a trail, nor would they have broken and bruised the stems in the thicket. It has pleased Manitou to make them an inferior people. Yet, we must beware of their cunning. As the prairie wolves sometimes pull down a buffalo, so a great Dakota warrior may be trapped and slain by the Ikcewicaxta.”

“Let us trail this band and give them a lesson, O, wise chief,” said Hoton.

“No,” replied Roka, firmly. “We have not come here merely to make a war. It is likely that we may meet them in battle, but they must first bring the fight to us, we shall not carry it to them. Remember what I have told you. We must keep close together on this march, and no one may leave the band for any purpose, unless he is sent on duty by me.”

“We will remember it, O, wise Roka,” said nine willing voices together, and they bore it in mind as they resumed the march through ascending country, thickly clothed with forest, not now open, but, to their disadvantage, abounding in thickets and wide areas of bushes. The thickets were made up mainly of great clumps of briars, many of them bearing berries already ripe, and they usually circled about these, but they made their way through the bushes, watchful of eye and ear, and ready of hand. With mind and muscle strained to such a pitch, travel through the primeval wilderness was exhausting work, and they were glad of a long rest at noon in a wide opening. Some of the younger men wanted to search the surrounding forest. Tatokadan and Hinyankaga were particularly eager, but again Roka would not allow it. He was all for prudence.

After a rest of full two hours, they resumed the advance through country that presented many opportunities for ambush, and Roka and Pehansan were exceeding wary. Both soon became convinced that the Ikcewicaxta were in the bush on either side of them and keeping pace. They noted it, because birds started suddenly from distant boughs, and faint but unusual sounds came to their ears. At a nod from Roka, Pehansan dropped back to the end of the line—they always went in single file, after the Indian fashion—and the glances he sent to the rear were full as keen as those Roka darted ahead. If the Ikcewicaxta attacked it was likely that they would come from behind, after the manner of inferior people.

Young Waditaka noted the precaution, but he said nothing. He shared the feelings of Tatokadan and Hinyankaga, and, since the Ikcewicaxta seemed to want it, he was anxious for the clash of arms to come at once. It could not be denied that the Dakota band was favored by the good spirits. He thought that the wonderful manner in which Peta and Mini had protected and saved him, whom he considered the least deserving of Roka’s men, proved it. But the savages could not know that the Dakota were a chosen people, and so they would have to receive a lesson. It would be well to give it to them quickly.

The afternoon march was a severe trial to all the young Dakota warriors, and perhaps it was none the less severe to Roka and Pehansan themselves, though they did not show it. Emboldened by the failure of the Dakota band to take notice, the Ikcewicaxta soon increased the evidences of their presence. Bushes well beyond bow shot and on either side were moved purposely. Now and then a top rising above the others was twisted and flaunted about in a most insulting manner.

The Dakota band, Roka leading and Pehansan guarding the rear, marched steadily on, but the muscles of all were quivering and every heart was beating with rage. The hands of the young warriors moved restlessly over their weapons, and now and then the perspiration stood out on their faces. Their souls were being tried in the fiery furnace. Although they knew it would be in vain, they looked longingly at Roka for a signal. The leader marched silently on, his eyes searching the undergrowth in front, and to right and left.

Now, the tops of the tall bushes moved more fiercely than ever, and sometimes when one on the right shook, another on the left shook as if in answer and in confirmation. Then distant shrill voices on one side began to chant, and voices on the opposite began to chant in like fashion. The eyes of the young warriors fairly flashed fire, and their hands clenched on their weapons. They knew that they were being derided, that they were being called Canwanka (cowards), Sinkpe (Muskrats) and, worst of all, Manka (Skunks). Their blood was as fire, and their strong teeth were bitten hard together. And this to them, of the haughty nation of the Dakota, lords of the western plains! This to them, the Dakota, from the Ikcewicaxta, savage and inferior people who hid in the bush and would not show their faces!

“I pray you, O wise leader,” said Inmu, “to let us send a few arrows into the thickets! Are we warriors that we are called upon to endure this?”

“Hold your hand and follow on!” said the leader sternly, though Inmu, a valiant lad and uncommonly wise for one so young, was dear to his heart. Roka neither increased nor decreased his speed and the others, so straight and regular was their file, stepped exactly in his footprints. Yet their hearts were swollen with rage and mortification. They could not recall that ever in their lives before had they listened to such a chant. They walked straight on after Roka, but a mighty power pulled at their feet, striving to draw them into the forest after the Ikcewicaxta. Doubtless Manitou looked down on them and pitied their agony, but there was the wise Roka, unyielding as he was wise, leading them on, and the fierce Pehansan, cast in the same mold, who brought up the rear, would not spare them if they broke from the line.

Louder and louder came the chant of the Ikcewicaxta, from the bushes on the right, from the bushes on the left, and the sounds, fierce and biting, filled the ears of the Dakota. Then, when the young warriors felt that they could endure it no longer, Hoton, the boaster, Hoton, the valiant, came to their aid. Clear and thrilling his voice rose in a challenge:

The songs of Hoton were satisfying to the soul when they were put to such uses. The taunts of the wild people were given back to them. They might not understand the words, but they could not mistake the tone. Even the stern Roka and the crafty Pehansan felt the defiance and they joined with full voice in the challenging chorus:

The Ikcewicaxta remained hidden. The tall, fierce warriors, powerful of chest and limb, long bows in hand and terrible tomahawks and knives in their belts, were not men to meet in open combat, and they preferred the dense covert. Roka felt that it would be so. The song of Hoton was really a weapon and the stern leader felt anew that they should be grateful to the valiant boaster who, like Inmu, was dear to his heart. His own soul, which had been stung with grief and rage, felt a mighty relief and, throwing his shoulders farther back than ever, he strode steadily on, though all his senses remained perfectly attuned, and his caution was not relaxed a particle, while all the time above the thickets boomed the fierce challenge:

The song sank after a while, but the Dakota felt better, far better. The taunts of the Ikcewicaxta were now darts without a point. Be they ten or be they a hundred, they had been invited to come into open battle. They had not come, and they had surely understood! Nobody on earth could mistake Hoton’s song, the song of the Dakota. When the last echoes of the chant died away in the forest, the Ikcewicaxta began to call to one another again in derision, but the young warriors no longer felt grief. Instead, mockery was theirs and they hurled it at their hidden foe.

Hoton began to laugh, and all the others laughed with him, even the wise Roka and the cunning Pehansan. Up and down the line, and back and forth, and back and forth again swept the derisive laughter. The Ikcewicaxta, crouching low in the thickets, could not fail to understand it. The warriors of the Dakota were laughing at them. Shrill cries came from the bushes, but Roka’s men merely laughed the louder and once more sent forth the dauntless battle cry:

“They will not come in the day, that is sure, though they may come by night,” said Inmu to Waditaka, who walked just behind him.

“The sooner they attack the better,” said Waditaka. “We can drive them off, no matter how many they are. I know that Roka would have had peace with whatever tribe he met in this region, but, since they’ve chosen otherwise, we’ll give ’em war to the uttermost.”

“We’re strangers, and so they look upon us as enemies,” said Inmu. “We ten will have to stand together against all who come.”

The song of defiance sank to a hum, a fierce hum, though, and they heard above it and anew the cries of rage, and cries that were signals. It was Will’s belief that more of the Ikcewicaxta had arrived, that at least fifty of them might now be in the bush on either side of the Dakota. He knew that the situation had become dangerous, that the extensive undergrowth favored the enemy, but he believed that the powerful bows carried by the Dakota exceeded any weapon of the wild people, and would keep them at a distance. Yet the kind of march they were making was tremendously trying on nerves, and he wondered how long Roka, stern and immovable, could lead on.

The thickets sank away, and they came to a wide stretch of forest, free from undergrowth, gratitude for this favor of Manitou appearing in the heart of every Dakota, though they gave no voice to it. They entered the park-like expanse, still in single file, and near its center came to a small brook of clear water running directly across the way. Roka signed to his men to kneel and drink and they did so, the cool stream soothing heated body and brain alike. The shouts of the Ikcewicaxta now came from thickets far beyond bowshot, but they were again taunting. Their cries said plainly that, like wolves trailing the much larger moose, they would follow the Dakota until, by force of numbers, they pulled down game greater than themselves. And they were cunning, too, like the wolf or the fox. So far Roka’s warriors had not seen a single one of them, not the passing glimpse of a body, not a feather in the hair, not the gleam of a weapon. They had heard only the taunting cries, so hard to bear.

Roka and Pehansan put their wise heads together, while their young warriors sat by the stream, and, like good generals, they considered their situation. They saw ahead of them high hills, sloping up toward the ranges, and one of them seemed to be bare. There they would pitch a camp for the night, if they could but reach it, and, judicious leaders that they were, they gave the young warriors a long rest, after which they resumed the march in the usual single file.

The thickets soon spread across their path again, and the Ikcewicaxta once more came near with their irritating cries, running through an extraordinary series of variations. They imitated eagle and hawk and owl and crow. They growled like the bear or screamed like the panther, they sent forth the grunt of the buffalo or the snarl of the wolf, and they snapped like the fox or uttered the neigh of the wild horse. Will had never before heard so many notes, and, all the while, those who threatened yet remained invisible. It was weird, uncanny, and as Will, the white youth, suddenly merged again and wholly into Waditaka, he was assailed by a great fear.

“How do we know it is the Ikcewicaxta at all?” he said to Inmu. “Perhaps the evil spirits have overpowered the good, and it is they that are in the bush, seeking to frighten, and perhaps to destroy us?”

“It is the Ikcewicaxta,” said Inmu. “Those are human cries, though the cries of deadly foes. We have not caught a single glimpse of their bodies, it is true, but perhaps we may soon have proof that they are men, as the thickets ahead of us now grow much more dense.”

They reached a region not merely of bushes but of vines and briars also, affording passage only to those who had consummate skill in the ways of the wilderness. Yet Roka entered it without hesitation, gliding through the obstructions in an extraordinary manner, and the others followed in like fashion. Now, as Inmu had foreseen, the Ikcewicaxta came much nearer, and their cries redoubled. Every kind of beast or bird howled or barked or screamed about the Dakota. The warriors, watching with eyes trained to pierce the undergrowth, kept their powerful bows ready, and the Ikcewicaxta made no rush. But there was a light swishing and the gleam of something falling. They saw arrows striking in the thickets on either side of them, but all dropping short, as if the savages did not yet dare to come near enough. The Dakota saw that the arrows were shorter and smaller than their own, concrete proofs that the wild people were inferior to themselves, and they gave back the taunts of their enemies in the same wild fashion. They, too, growled like the bear and screamed like the panther, but with a fiercer and deeper note, as if the sounds were sent from mightier chests. It was also the note of invitation, of welcome to battle.

It was a scene from dim antiquity, the superior, trailed and assailed by numbers, challenging the inferior to come forward and give battle, man to man, and the inferior, knowing its inferiority in strength and courage, resisting the taunts, and trusting always to cunning, numbers and pertinacity. And the great leader, Roka, knew all the time, while the arrows were falling short on either side of them, that he could not draw the Ikcewicaxta into pitched battle. He knew, too, that the danger was formidable and pressing. Cunning and powerful as wolf and bear had proved themselves to be, man was more so, and the Ikcewicaxta would follow with surprising patience and endurance the noblest game that they had ever found. Even the spirit of Roka, so strong in self-restraint, began to show irritation. He fingered his bow restlessly. He sought in the bushes on either side for a sight of the pertinacious foe, and had he caught a single glimpse of a brown body his arrow would have gone straight and true, but, look as he would, he had no reward for eye and spirit. The Ikcewicaxta never ceased their cries, and at times sent flights of arrows, but they remained invisible.

The little shafts of the wild people began to fall nearer. They pierced leaves and cut twigs not two yards away. Then one struck at the very feet of Pehansan, and, the next instant, another passed directly between Waditaka and Inmu. Warriors of lesser fiber would have been thrown into a tumult, and would have begun to fight, shooting at random, perhaps, but fighting, nevertheless. But Roka gave the supreme proof of unflinching courage and steadiness, and he still led his men on, straight toward the desired hill, while not one of them dared to loose an arrow until he gave the word.

The thickets thinned out for a while, and then closed in again. The patter of arrows from the wild people on twigs and leaves was incessant. A shaft scraped the shoulder of Inmu, but he did not utter a word. One lodged in the pack of Pehansan. He pulled it out and threw it on the ground, and marched on in silence, though the cries of the Ikcewicaxta were now triumphant and closer. Until now Roka had never looked back once. Turning, for a moment, a face flashing with wrath he said to Inmu, who was just behind him:

“The time is at hand when they will dare too much. Be ready with bow and arrow. Pass the word!”

Inmu passed it, and it went down the line until it reached Pehansan at the rear, and, as it was sent from man to man, the souls of the Dakota were lifted up. Every pulse leaped with joy. They were going to give answer to the foe who had assailed them so long with taunt and shaft. Their own fierce song had told that they would fight, but that was like the voice of a herald, it was not good until action made it true. Now shaft would answer shaft and the wild people, the savages, the Ikcewicaxta, would know what it was to fight with the great Dakota. And it was true that young Waditaka, who had been born white, was not the least eager among them.

It happened also that Waditaka was the first to catch a glint of brown in the bushes. His great elk-horn bow bent to the uttermost and his arrow shot forth, a flash of light. The death cry coming back showed that it had not been launched in vain, and the Dakota gave fierce approval. Hoton, who had been silent for a long time, began to shout forth his tremendous song:

And all the ten joined in the song. They knew that Waditaka’s arrow had gone true, and they were glad. Their wild instincts were alive and leaping. The taunters were learning what it was to come too near the Dakota. Pehansan suddenly uttered a terrific shout. He, too, had caught the brown glimpse, and, quick as lightning, his arrow went to the target, carrying instant death. Inmu wounded a third and Capa a fourth. The cries of the Ikcewicaxta ceased suddenly and they drew back, knowing now what it was to attack the picked warriors of a superior race. Hoton, in thunder tones, upbraided them.

“Do you flee, O Ikcewicaxta?” he cried. “Do you flee, Canwanka? Do you flee, Manka? We are here, the Dakota! We are but ten! You are many times our number! You are on either side of us! Your arrows have fallen at our feet! They have struck in our clothing! They have grazed our bodies! But we flinch not! We neither stop nor do we run! The wise Roka leads us on at the appointed pace to the place where we would go! Come again! Come close as you did before, and we will teach you another and yet greater lesson! O Ikcewicaxta, is it possible that you are going to fail us! You will not come! The Dakota have had but one battle in one day, and true warriors of our nation cannot sleep well unless they have had at least three! O Ikcewicaxta, are you so hard of heart that we must lie awake tonight?”

Waditaka knew well that the hearts of the Ikcewicaxta were consumed with rage. As before they might not understand a word of Dakota, but the tones and inflections of Hoton were unmistakable. Only the certainty of death could keep back those who had heard such a challenge, and the Ikcewicaxta did not come.

The forest about them became absolutely silent. The wind ceased to blow, and not a leaf or a twig stirred. The ten as they marched on at the same even gait made no sound, so light were their footsteps. Their hearts were light, too. Roka felt an immense relief. If the Ikcewicaxta had pressed the attack there in the thickets, reckless of losses, the Dakota must have gone down, no matter how great their courage and strength. But superb archery and a dauntless front had driven them off, for a while. Now he prayed silently to all the good spirits of earth and air, of fire and water, to give them soon open forest, where the enemies could lay no ambush, and where the ten, with free arms and bodies, and shooting so fast that eye might not follow hand and arrow, could drive off any number of these wild and inferior people of the great northern wilderness.

But the Ikcewicaxta held back, for the time at least. Now and then the Dakota heard a distant shout, but no more arrows fell near them. The hill that they had chosen for their camp of the night drew near, and Roka, who had first seen it with the eyes of a general, knew now that his hopes were confirmed. Summit and slopes were clear of trees and undergrowth and from a rocky part of the slope flowed a fine little brook. They had ample food for several days which, in a pinch, they could make last two or three times as long, and it would be strange, in truth, if ten such warriors as they could not hold the crest.

“Behold the hill that is waiting for us,” said Roka, in even tones to his men. “It rises up, a tower of might, and we will make our home there for a while. But do not hasten. It is not seemly for the Dakota to flee, or to have the appearance of fleeing, before the Ikcewicaxta.”

He marched gravely to the brook, where he knelt and drank, and, when everyone had drunk copiously in turn, they proceeded toward the crest of the hill, after Hoton had issued a thundering but unanswered challenge to the Ikcewicaxta to follow.

“Here we rest, and, if need be, fight,” said the wise Roka.

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