13 Mahpiya’s Promise

It was a hill, sloping down gently and evenly in all directions, with no underbrush on any side for a distance of several hundred yards, the spring at which they had drunk being well within the open area, and it had all the aspects of a fortress that might be defended indefinitely by brave men. The Dakota warriors, despite their courage and warlike training, felt enormous relief. All lay upon the grass, drawing deep breaths, except Roka and Pehansan, who stood erect watching the bushes for the first sign of the Ikcewicaxta.

But the wild people did not come. They had already obtained a taste of the Dakota quality, and they did not like it. They sent jeers from distant coverts, but did not show themselves, and then Roka and Pehansan also sat down, their old contempt for the savages returning. The taciturn leader seldom showed his feelings, but he was willing to prove now to the Ikcewicaxta how little his men cared for them.

“You have had one good drink,” he said to the warriors, “but you can now go back to the spring and drink again. But take your weapons with you.”

The young warriors caught the spirit of it, and expressing supreme contempt for their foes, they sauntered carelessly down to the water, drinking their fill a second time. Then they dipped their heads and hands in the pool, and, retiring to the crest of the hill, where they sat in plain view of the savages hidden in the bushes, began to comb their hair with little combs that everyone carried in his pack. Will suddenly remembered the old story of the three hundred Spartans at Thermopylae, sitting placidly in the sunshine and combing their long hair in the face of the Persian hosts, as a sign that they would meet the attack, though outnumbered a thousand to one. The ten were like the three hundred to him, not less valiant, and he was proud to be their comrade. He, too, had a little comb, and he sat with them, combing his long hair as they did theirs. The ordinary eye could not have noticed that he differed from them in any respect, save that his hair was brown and fine while theirs was black and coarse.

Will liked the spirit of the challenge, and he knew that it was thoroughly genuine. The Dakota, sitting on their hill, would have welcomed a rush by the Ikcewicaxta. They had yet shot but few arrows. Their quivers were full, and not in vain had Roka trained them so carefully in archery. If the Ikcewicaxta charged across that open ground not a Dakota arrow would go astray.

An hour passed and no demonstration came from the thickets. The locks of the warriors had been carefully arranged long since. Their dress was smoothed, their faces were calm and composed. If battle were offered, they would enter it like guests going to a feast. But Roka became confident that it would not be offered, at least while day lasted, and, wise general that he was, he began to make preparations for all emergencies.

“Do you, Tatokadan and Hinyankaga,” he said, “gather fallen wood for a fire, and Capa and Tarinca can slice venison for the broiling. Pehansan and Inmu will watch the thickets, and the remainder of us will rest on the grass until supper is ready. We will take our ease and we will show that just now these savages do not exist for us. You think, Waditaka, that Xunktokeca, the king wolf, still follows us?”

“I do, Roka,” replied Will, “and in some ways I dread him more than the Ikcewicaxta down there in the bush.”

“It is because the wolf does not forget. Perhaps he alone among the animals does not forget.”

“How do you think he happened to be on the shelf waiting for me the time I tried to climb out of the valley?”

“Perhaps he had some secret way of entering the valley, some narrow gulch that you did not see. You know that Mini showed you the way out. The wolf is very crafty and very wise, and he may have known of another path. Do the Ikcewicaxta stir in the thickets, Inmu?”

“No, O wise Roka, and they must have drawn back to some distance, because at the edge of the bushes I can see birds fluttering about and darting from one bough to another.”

“Good proof that you are right, Inmu. Now, the odor of the broiled venison is very pleasant and all of us will eat.”

A small fire had been built quickly and Capa and Tarinca were broiling the venison in such fashion that every member of the band was assailed at once by a fierce hunger. There was enough for all, and they ate in a leisurely manner, like gentlemen of the wilderness. When they had finished they wiped their hunting knives carefully, and returned them to the sheaths. Then they went down to the spring, and drank a third time. It was now almost sunset and they put out the fire. The most dangerous period was drawing near, and they knew it, but forest warriors never awaited an attack with prouder or bolder hearts.

“The night,” said Roka, studying the skies attentively, “will not be very dark. The Ikcewicaxta, hidden by the grass, may creep within fifty or sixty yards of us, from which point their arrows will reach, but even if we cannot see them we must hear them.”

“Why not roll these old, fallen logs into a sort of circle?” said Will, who had the white man’s instinct for fortification, “and from their shelter we can beat five times our number of the wild people.”

“Yours are wise words, Waditaka.”

They put the tree trunks into place, making a barrier that would be a great help in forest warfare, and then they crouched behind them in a circle, facing all the slopes of the hill, Will sitting between Inmu and Hoton. The sun set swiftly behind the ranges, and the night came on, as Roka had predicted, neither absolutely bright nor absolutely dark. Their eyes, trained to the dusk, could easily detect an enemy close up, but for a foe farther away they must depend upon hearing, which necessity had developed to such an extraordinary degree. They doubted whether the Ikcewicaxta would try a rush, but, in any event, they were supremely confident, and knowing that they would have to wait long, they made themselves as comfortable as they could behind their logs.

“If the leaders of the Ikcewicaxta would only come out and talk to us,” said Will to Hoton, “not an arrow need be fired by either side. All we want is a passage through this country which may or may not be theirs.”

“But they won’t come out,” said Hoton. “That is why they are savages, inferior people. Observe, Waditaka, that the lower breeds always take the higher to be their enemies. We would not harm a single one of the Ikcewicaxta, but they will not have it that way. Folly rules as often as wisdom.”

“Hoton speaks truth,” said Inmu. “If all the red races had made friends with one another, and joined against the white people, who were once yours, Waditaka, the beaver streams and the buffalo plains would remain ours forever. Can you see anything stirring in the thickets, Hoton?”

“No, it is too dark there. All the bushes blur together until they make a black wall, nor do I hear anything creeping toward us. And remember, Inmu, that if I, Hoton, do not hear it, nobody hears it, and remember also that if I, Hoton, do not hear a sound, the sound is not made.”

“I shall remember it, O boaster, and remembering it, I wonder why Roka keeps the rest of us on guard. You would hear the Ikcewicaxta first, and you alone would defeat them.”

“But it would not be seemly, Inmu. What would Xingudan say when we went back to the village, if it were told to him that nine of his men left Hoton to fight a savage horde alone?”

“The reason is a good one, Hoton. Boaster you are, but valiant is your heart, and your tongue is one that never tires.”

Will heard the Lynx’s low laugh, but the serenity of Hoton was not disturbed in the least.

“Hark, I hear the twitter of a bird,” he said, “and the bird is not one that flies from bough to bough.”

“It walks on the ground, and it carries bow and arrows in its hand,” said Inmu.

“True, Inmu, and its heart is filled with hatred of the Dakota, who have done it no harm, save in self-defense.”

“And the answering twitter comes from another bird of the same kind.”

“Shall we tell Roka?”

“No. He has already heard and he knows.”

All the Dakota understood the signals, and, raising themselves a little behind their defenses, they gazed intently, trying to pierce the dark. But they were not as yet able to trace human figures.

“Don’t you think it likely they will try to wear out our patience?” Will said to Inmu. “I’ve noticed that usually the wilder people are the more patience they have.”

“It is true, Waditaka, and it is because they have so much time. The Ikcewicaxta, having little to do and think about, can afford to wait long. It is a weapon which they consider as good as ours, although their bows and arrows are inferior.”

Nevertheless, the patience of the Dakota themselves was almost infinite, and in this trial they proved to be the equal of the Ikcewicaxta. Several of them lay fully an hour behind the tree trunks, without stirring. The moonlight came out and silvered their bronze figures, but they were as still as the dead. White men would have found such long waiting past all endurance, but it was a part of the lives of the Dakota, and, knowing its need at this vital time, they did not mean to be outdone in it by the Ikcewicaxta.

The twittering of birds in the woods ceased, and then came the hoot of owls, the barking of foxes, the snarling of wolves and the growl of bears. The sounds were on all sides, but the Dakota warriors only looked at one another, and smiled contemptuously.

“Do they expect to scare us with noise?” asked the pious Tarinca, “and do they think we are so ignorant that we do not know the noises are made by the Ikcewicaxta themselves?”

“The wild people are foolish,” said Hoton, “they do not know who the Dakota are. They do not know our prowess, and they do not know that I, Hoton, am here. They do not know they are trying to stalk the greatest of all Dakota warriors—save, of course, the wise Roka, our leader.”

Roka himself smiled at Hoton’s last and diplomatic touch, but he let the valiant boaster whisper on. He knew that the men liked to hear him, that Hoton was always an optimist, and that the talk of an optimist was like a trumpet to those going into battle.

“When do you think the attack will come?” asked Will of Inmu after a while.

“Not before midnight, Waditaka; perhaps much later.”

“And midnight itself is a good two hours away.”

“But as a Dakota, Waditaka, you can wait patiently twenty hours, if need be.”

The chattering sounds in the forest ceased again, and after midnight the skies began to darken. The dimmer stars danced uncertainly and then went away. The face of the moon became dusky. The black wall of the circling forest merged into the general blackness, and the heavy shadows came closer to the little force on the hill. The Dakota range of vision, although their eyes were used to the dark, did not extend above fifty or sixty yards now, and that was within bow shot. Will felt sure that the attack would come soon. All the conditions now favored the Ikcewicaxta, and he continually examined the open space about them for the sight of creeping forms. Nevertheless, like all his comrades, he relied in the crisis more upon ear than eye. No wind was blowing and the Dakota would be able to hear any sound made upon the earth

The cries of beasts and birds in the thickets suddenly burst forth anew and in much greater volume. Wild animals were growling, snapping and barking in the whole circle of the forest, and the owls hooted in weird and melancholy unison. Will was astonished. Why this demonstration? Did the Ikcewicaxta merely wish to prove the power of their lungs and their skill in imitation? Then, in a flash, he divined the reason.

“It is the cover for an attack,” he whispered to Inmu. “They wish to draw our attention to the thickets, and also to drown out light sounds made by their creeping warriors.”

“As sure as the moon is in the heavens! And now, may the good spirits watch over us.”

A light swish, and an arrow, passing over their heads, was buried in the ground beyond. Will noticed it as it stuck upright, the shaft still quivering. It was smaller than the arrows of the Dakotas, and not so well made, proof of their inferiority. A people was to be judged by the quality of its weapons. A thud, and another arrow was buried in the defending tree trunk. Three more buried themselves in the wood, and two others passed beyond. The hands of the young warriors became eager and restless, but the wise Roka, sweeping the circle with his eyes, compelled them to withhold the reply yet a while.

“They are there, but you cannot see them,” he whispered. “We must not shoot until we know the target. Let them waste their arrows, because they are the Ikcewicaxta, an inferior people, but we, the Dakota, will not speed our shafts in vain.”

The volume of sound from the forest became amazing. It seemed to Will that at least a hundred warriors must be there, sending forth cries of bird and beast from their throats, and perhaps as many more were creeping forward in the deadly circle. The arrows were whizzing all about them, sticking in the tree trunks until more than a score stood out there, but mostly passing in a stream over their heads and beyond. Roka arranged his men carefully, facing all sides of the circle, and now bade them, whenever they saw a creeping form, to shoot.

It was the fortune of Hoton to make the first reply for the defense. He saw a dark shadow detach itself from the darker earth in order to bend a bow, and, quick as lightning, his own shaft sped straight to the mark. Then Inmu shot, and in another minute the entire circle was in action. The circumscribed space within the fallen trees was filled with the twanging of bows, the whistling of arrows, the heavy breathing of men, the low commands of Roka and Pehansan, and now and then the fierce, triumphant shout of Hoton, which Roka made no effort to check, knowing that it was a bugle call to his young warriors.

“Come on! Come on, O Ikcewicaxta!” cried the valiant boaster, “and learn what it is to attack the Dakota! You pay high for the knowledge, but it is worth the price! Why do you creep? Stand up! Face us like men! You are a hundred and we but ten!”

Although they did not accept Hoton’s invitation to stand up, the Ikcewicaxta were not lacking in courage. Their arrows pelted like hail upon the little circle of defense. They had an advantage, too, in knowing just where the Dakota were, while the Dakota must rely upon fleeting glimpses in the dark for their targets. They clung to the ground, creeping closer and ever closer, and they believed that, where so many arrows of theirs were falling, some must surely strike home.

Thankful were the Dakota now for their shelter of logs. The good wood received scores of arrows intended for their own breasts, and in all the excitement and fury of the battle they obeyed the strenuous injunctions of Roka and Pehansan to expose no more of the body than was necessary for the bending of the bow. And despite the darkness and confusion the Dakota never shot better. Figure after figure fell before their swift arrows, but they were not escaping now without harm themselves. Roka himself was grazed by an arrow across the chest, Capa was wounded slightly in the side, and a shaft stood out in the shoulder of Totokadan. Fortunately it did not penetrate deep, and, pulling it out, he bound up the wound hastily, going on with the battle as if he had not been touched. An arrow shot high and, falling within the circle, struck Hoton in the foot, but, snatching it forth, he fitted it to his own bow and returned it to them.

“I give you back your present!” he shouted. “These are gifts that the Dakota like, arrows and yet more arrows, and yet more arrows, and hoping that you, too, will like them, they send them to you in return! Come closer, and yet a little closer, O Ikcewicaxta! Let us see the color of your eyes! Come into our circle! We are but a few, but we are enough to give you a welcome that will last you a hundred moons!”

The Ikcewicaxta obeyed. They came nearer, but now the good spirits favored the Dakota. A sudden unveiling of the moon revealed them with distinctness, and the Dakota shot with such deadly swiftness that, uttering howls of terror, they gave up the attack, fleeing for the shelter of the thickets.

The cries of beasts and birds ceased suddenly. The Dakota warriors themselves sank down exhausted, and an oppressive silence succeeded the sounds of combat. It was broken by Roka.

“The Ikcewicaxta,” he said, “are not Dakota warriors, but they have borne themselves well in the battle.”

“They might now be within our log circle if I had not frightened them,” said Hoton.

“You shouted well, O Crow,” said Roka, “and you shot no less well.”

“But we never could have driven them back had not the good spirits helped us,” said the pious Tarinca.

“Tarinca speaks the truth,” said Roka, and all the Dakota devoutly gave thanks, though not neglecting meanwhile to help themselves to the uttermost. The watch was never relaxed for an instant. Slight wounds were bound up anew or for the first time, and Roka served food. Then Inmu and Hinyankaga, scaling the barrier and creeping about in the dark, scouted the open ground thoroughly, reporting that no enemy was now there. The Ikcewicaxta had carried away all their wounded and dead, save two.

“If they return for the two,” said Roka, “we are not to fire upon them.”

Later in the night they heard creeping noises, but not an arrow was discharged. At dawn the two bodies were gone. Then the young warriors in turn went down to the spring and drank deeply, those who had wounds bathing and cleansing them also. No sign came from the thickets, but they felt sure the Ikcewicaxta were still there.

“Since they suffered so much in last night’s attack,” said Pehansan, “they may conclude to use patience, of which they have as much as we.”

“What do you mean?” asked Will.

“To keep a circle about us, not to rush us, but to hold us within our logs. They know that our food and arrows cannot last forever. They may sit in the thickets a week, two weeks, and wait until we have to come out.”

The prospect made no sort of an appeal to Will. He thought himself as well supplied with patience as those who were born Dakota, but the calmness of Pehansan when he announced the probability seemed to him wholly unwarranted.

“Two weeks would be a long time to wait,” he said.

“But think how young you are, Waditaka,” said the Crane, grimly. “You would not be an old man, even when the Ikcewicaxta came to the end of their patience. And bear in mind, too, Waditaka, that you are yet alive, that all of us are alive, and that as the good spirits helped us last night, so they may help us again.”

“Every word you say is true, Pehansan, and I am grateful for the favor that is shown to us.”

“You will notice, too, Waditaka, that the spring flows on, that it will probably flow forever, and that its water is cool and very pleasant.”

“I notice it, Pehansan; I notice also that it flows for us, and again I am grateful.”

Will, despite the belief of his comrades, was hopeful that the wild people would go away that day, but he soon saw that Roka and Pehansan did not cherish the same idea. When they were all refreshed they set the warriors to work, strengthening the fortifications, putting more fallen logs into position, and also helping out the breastwork with loose stones that were scattered about. The leader examined the food in every pack, and announced the size of the ration for every man, about half the usual amount, a severe trial for such sturdy young warriors, but enough to keep life in their bodies. All that Roka and Pehansan did betokened the expectation of a long siege, and Will tried to accustom himself to the thought of it.

It was hard to build there on the hill for a long stay, because by day the Ikcewicaxta were not visible at all, nor did they make any sound. So far as any physical demonstration was concerned, they might have been a thousand miles away. Twitterings and chirpings came out of the forest, but they were those of real birds; there was a bark, but it was that of a real fox, and a distant snarl was that of a genuine mountain wolf, maybe that of the king wolf himself. All the while the sunshine poured down in wave after wave. The deep green of the surrounding forest had been heightened in a single day, and it seemed to Will that he could almost see the grass growing. All the roaming instincts in him, the desire to look and see, were alive, and it was cruel to toil at a fortification against an invisible foe, when all nature invited.

It was likely that the young Dakota warriors felt the wandering impulse as strongly as Will did, but they, as well as he, did not allow it to show itself. They worked at the barrier until they had used all the fallen wood and loose stones, and, now and then, they went purposely within bowshot of the forest, hoping to tempt the Ikcewicaxta, but they never drew an arrow. Nearly all the afternoon they rested within their fort, and now Hoton proved anew his value not only as a warrior but as an entertainer, a highly desirable gift at such a time. He spun wonderful stories of the Dakota nation, he related many incidents showing why Dakota warriors were superior to any other, and the children of the forest, who had no books, but whose craving for romance, natural in all human beings, was supplied by the tale teller, listened with an attention and interest very gratifying to Hoton.

The valiant boaster was still chanting his little historical novels of the Dakota nation when the sun set, and he might have gone on even then had it not been time for supper. Roka did not allow any fire to be lighted, and they contented themselves with cold food, and but little of it. The second night was very much like the first in quality, neither very dark nor very fair, but the Ikcewicaxta never stirred. Not a single one of them crept into the open, not an arrow was shot from the circling forest, and, when another dawn came, Will hoped that Roka and Pehansan would give the word to start again, but they merely told the warriors to make themselves as comfortable as they could inside the log circle, although they had the privilege of visiting the spring whenever it was necessary.

Will and Inmu, who went to the brook together, were so exasperated over the silence of the wild people that they lingered purposely, and made a great display, splashing each other with water, but the Ikcewicaxta were immune to all such temptations. The forest gave out no sound from them.

“They would not send an arrow unless we went down to the edge of the forest itself,” said Inmu.

“Do you feel sure they are still there?” asked Will.

“It is a vain question, Waditaka. They are as surely there as we are here. They intend to make us come from behind our logs, some time or other, and well within the range of their arrows.”

“But they can’t do it.”

“That is for time to tell, Waditaka. You see now very well that it is to be a test of patience.”

Two more days and two more nights passed and in all that time the Ikcewicaxta gave no sign. Inferior in knowledge and prowess they might be to the Dakota, but they were equal to anybody on earth in patience. The warriors had been in their log ring for five days, when Roka allowed Hoton and Tarinca to venture within arrow shot of the forest. He did it merely that his young warriors, now growing impatient, might have proof of a fact that he himself never doubted. A little risk was worth while if it steeled their patience.

Four arrows were sent at Hoton and Tarinca, none of them coming very near, and the two would gladly have sent their own shafts at random into the covert, but they did not dare disobey the stern command of Roka. Arrows were too valuable to be wasted on chance shots. They retreated quickly, and they and their comrades now prayed to all the spirits of earth and air and water to send the Ikcewicaxta against them in fair battle.

But the wild people, knowing their best tactics, clung to them in a way that would have won the admiration of a great general. They stayed day and night in the covert, and waited for the game to drop into their hands. Even Roka did not hesitate to commend their methods.

“If it is our fate to fall,” he said, “it will be to foes who are not as much inferior to us as we thought.”

It was clear that he found much consolation in the knowledge. Their food, with the most rigid economy, would not last them more than two days longer, and now he and Pehansan talked much together in low tones. Young Waditaka knew that they were seeking a way out, and he trusted those two wise leaders. As for himself, he put most faith in the elements. He recognized now that the Ikcewicaxta were willing to wait until the Dakota dropped dead from exhaustion, or, if Roka’s men dared to break from their fort and plunge into the forest, they would all surely be cut down, no matter how bravely they fought. But the injunction had been laid by Xingudan upon Roka to bring all the young men back to the village, which had no warriors to spare, and he meant to do so, if it were humanly possible. Will felt sure then that the rush would not be made, unless it was favored by exceptional circumstances, conditions far more favorable to the defense than any that had yet occurred.

Yet young Waditaka never lost courage. He had been saved once by Peta and Mini, and he believed that as the favor of the good spirits had been showered upon him, so would it be showered upon the band. Why not? He considered himself the least deserving among the besieged warriors, and, as he sat within the log circle, thinking intently about it and gazing up at the sky, it seemed to him that the blue dome suddenly bent down toward him in a friendly and protecting manner, just as the lofty flames of Peta had once leaned toward him and towered over him, fending off his enemies. A whisper coming out of the very center of the vault said:

“Trust me and I will save you!”

Will started violently. His companions had taken no notice, and they surely had not heard the words, but he could have sworn that they were registered upon the drum of his ear. It was a voice out of the void. A good spirit was talking and he would have faith. His own Christian religion had taught him to have faith, and faith worked wonders. The creed of the Dakota was not different, and, resolving to believe, he believed.

“I do not know how we shall be saved,” he said to Inmu, “but I know who will save us.”

“Who, Waditaka?” asked the Lynx with eager curiosity.

“Mahpiya” (Sky).

Inmu never thought of scoffing. He was too devout a Dakota to doubt Waditaka’s word.

“Has a voice then been speaking to you?” he asked.

“Yes, Inmu. It came out of the very center of the blue dome. It was but a whisper, but it could be none other than Mahpiya speaking.”

“What did Mahpiya say?” asked Inmu, not without awe.

“‘Trust me and I will save you.’ The ‘you’ meant all of us, and, Inmu, I trust implicitly what Mahpiya said.”

“So do I, Waditaka, and it is well that we shall have Mahpiya’s help, because the end of our food is at hand. Our patience has been as great as that of the Ikcewicaxta, but when they have food and we have none they can still wait, while we cannot.”

It was a fact not at all strange that Will’s revelation was accepted with the utmost faith by all the Dakota. They, like all the other Indian nations living from time immemorial in close communion with nature, believed that the spirits now and then revealed to men what they could not know of their own accord. They had been deeply impressed by young Waditaka’s story of the manner in which he had been protected by fire and saved by water, and it added faith, if faith were needed, to his prediction that they would be saved from the wild people by Mahpiya, the sky.

Roka said but little, though he felt an immense relief. The Badger was a great warrior, and he had the tenacity and fighting spirit of the animal after which he was named, but it would have hurt his pride terribly to think that he was going to fall at the hands of an inferior people, the Ikcewicaxta, even though his own hand sent a half dozen of them before him to Tokata (Hereafter). Hence he regarded with great favor young Waditaka, because he had been chosen to hear the whisper of Mahpiya, and to convey the message to the rest of the band.

So Roka gazed up at the sky and sought to see the beginning of the miracle. He had no idea how Mahpiya would send it, but send it he surely would, although there was yet no sign. From the zenith to the circling horizon the heavens were a blazing blue. The far green mountains with their snowy crests were outlined against it in dazzling beauty. It was a. majestic and splendid world, and the gallant Dakota warrior suddenly felt, with all the sharpness of a truth not realized before, that he would be loath to leave it in the prime of life. He would die on the battlefield, if he must, because, in his view, that was a noble death, but it was better to live in the royal wilderness. And if he wished to finish out his life, how much more must it be wished by the young warriors around him, mere lads who had just begun to live. And no leader ever had a finer and braver lot of boys. He looked upon them and, for a moment, his quiet eyes glowed.

“Mahpiya does not yet speak,” said Hoton, who was also gazing at the sky.

“The spirit of Mahpiya is not ready to speak,” said the pious Tarinca. “The gods choose their own time for delivering their messages, and they are not affected by the wishes of men. Mahpiya has whispered in the ear of Waditaka and that is enough. Having told us that he will act, he will act when the time comes.”

Yet the sky remained without a change a long time. The Ikcewicaxta, as if feeling that the fruit was ripe and would soon fall into their hands, began for the first time in days to chatter and snarl and growl in the woods, imitating all the animals and birds of the northern wilderness. Roka and his warriors knew well enough that these were sounds of derision, and, although the Indian was peculiarly sensitive to ridicule, they made no reply, but merely shut their teeth the harder.

Roka bade them all to make their packs ready, and to have their weapons in perfect order. He was not absolutely sure that Mahpiya would order them to leave the log circle, but, if so, he meant that his people should be ready when the command came. It was well to cooperate with the gods when they intended to favor you. He also sent them down to the spring that everyone might have a good drink and then bathe his head, neck and arms in the refreshing waters. When all had done so they sat once more on the logs and combed their long hair. It was good to bid defiance anew to the Ikcewicaxta, and they could not fail to understand the sign. Then the last of their food, a strip of venison apiece, was served, and they ate it, confident that more would soon come from some unknown source, because Mahpiya had promised.

Another hour passed in utter silence. Then Roka said to Pehansan:

“Did I feel the touch of Tateyanpa (Wind) on my face, or was it only my fancy, Pehansan?”

The Crane moistened his finger, and held it up before he replied.

“It was the faint breath of Tateyanpa” he said, “and I have a thought, Roka, that the miracle which is to save us is beginning.”

“It was mine also, Pehansan. How long would you say it is to sunset?”

“About an hour, O Roka.”

“Much may happen in an hour. Now I am sure we feel the beginning of the miracle. The wind on my cheek grows stronger, and it comes out of the south.”

“And so, a moist wind, O Roka.”

The figure of the wise leader suddenly expanded and he stood erect. His eyes glowed and Waditaka saw that this man, usually so quiet, was infused with a great emotion.

“Be ready, O my warriors,” he said, in deep, sonorous tones. “Mahpiya is about to save us. The miracle is at hand! We do not yet know in what manner it will work, but let us be prepared to do our part when Mahpiya calls.”

An electric thrill shot through every warrior, and their hearts were uplifted. All felt the south wind, gentle and moist in its touch, blowing on their cheeks, and Waditaka, who had been looking long at the dazzling blue of the sky, asked:

“Don’t you think there is a faint tint of gray in the western sky? By comparing it with the center of the heavens I seem to see a new paleness there.”

“You see clearly, Waditaka, because what you say is true,” replied the chief. “A thin grayness is beginning to overspread the sky in the south, and it is from there that Tateyanpa comes.”

“And the touch of Tateyanpa grows more moist,” said Hoton. “I think, O chief, that we shall soon be in the presence of mighty deeds, done by those far greater than we are.”

The light mist in the south was spreading, and the wind continued to gain in strength, though it came steadily, never in gusts. Will watched the change with awe. He thought with Roka, and just as devoutly, that the miracle was beginning. He had not been mistaken when he believed that Mahpiya had whispered in his ear, and he was too good a Dakota to think for a moment that Mahpiya would whisper a promise that he did not mean to keep.

The sun had been so dazzling that he could scarcely glance at it, even between his fingers. It had hung in the west, a gigantic, burnished, brazen ball, larger and more brilliant, it seemed, than ever before in his life. It was apparently impossible that anything could put out Wi (The Sun), but he had learned long since that millions of little creatures working together could extinguish anything, no matter how large and strong. The mist was composed of myriads of motes, all making a great veil which slowly, though ever spreading, was dimming the splendor of Wi himself. It was another proof to him, and to Roka as well, that the miracle was about to be performed.

“The skies will soon be darkened,” said the Dakota leader in a solemn tone, “and they will be darkened by another hand than that of the twilight, which itself is not far away.”

A faint sound, almost like a distant groan, came from the south.

“Wakinyanhoton” (Thunder), said Roka.

“Mahpiya speaks first to the ear,” said the pious Tarinca, “and then he will speak to the eye. Now we shall soon see Wakanhdi” (Lightning).

But Wakanhdi did not flash. They heard only the voice of Wakinyanhoton, which, although low, spread all around the southern and western horizons and was inexpressibly solemn. It was like the rumbling of a far-away but mighty sea, and the gray mist, the veil that myriads of motes made by ranging themselves together, stole up and up toward the zenith, casting its shadow before it in the west where mighty blazing Wi ceased steadily to blaze so much or to be so mighty.

All the Dakota watched with awe, but without fear. The strangest feature of the phenomenon was the entire absence of lightning. They knew that where thunder was lightning was also, but evidently Wakanhdi did not wish to reveal himself to them. He must be hiding his flashes on purpose, and, for a reason, behind the distant mountains.

“Wi will soon be gone, conquered by Minibosan” (Mist), said Roka.

“And will Minibosan turn to Mahpiya?” (Cloud) asked Pehansan.

“That I know not,” replied the wise leader. “Mahpiya has whispered to Waditaka that we shall be saved, but he has not told the way, although we surely see the beginning of it. Wakanhdi appears not, but Wakinyanhoton groans all the time.”

The thunder, in truth, was spreading around the whole circle of the heavens, a distant and solemn note like a myriad organs playing together, but still without a sign of lightning. Nor could there be any doubt now that Wi had been completely conquered. In spite of his splendor and power, the mists were hanging a heavy gray veil over his face, which would soon hide him, even if the curve of the world did not supervene first.

“In a half hour,” said Roka, “night will be here, and I think a great wind will ride on the wings of the dark.”

“From what point do you think Tateyanpa will come?” asked Pehansan.

“That I know not. Now, Pehansan, the air does not stir. Have you not noticed that the bushes do not move? That they stand straight up?”

“It is true, O wise Roka. There is nothing yet to tell us which way the wind will blow.”

“May it not be,” said the pious Tarinca, “that the blowing of the wind will be Mahpiya’s command to us to go the way he sends it? Thunder, lightning and wind all come out of his mouth and they are the voices with which he speaks.”

It seemed to them all that Tarinca had divined the intention of Mahpiya, and Roka spoke for the others as well as himself when he replied:

“It must be so, Tarinca. That is why Mahpiya withholds the real wind so long. When he sends it we will follow it. I know now that Tateyanpa will guide us right.”

Conviction was supreme in the heart of every one of the ten, and in silence they awaited the call of Tateyanpa, while darkness and clouds, thick and heavy, overspread all the heavens.

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