LITMIR.BIZ

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of Kaweras, principal arrow-maker of the Maquas. When, apparently dead, he had been flung into the river to disappear forever from human eyes, he had fallen among a bed of reeds in a place where the water was too shallow to drown him. There he lay motionless through the long night hours, half in the water and half out of it, while the tall reeds whispered and rustled above his head. Soft-flitting night-birds gazed at him with wondering eyes, while timid animals coming to the river to drink sniffed the air tainted by his presence and fled in terror.

      Towards morning a glimmer of returning life entered the numbed brain, and in striving to obey its commands the poor bruised body began to make feeble movements. By sunrise Nahma was sitting up and gazing stupidly at the green wall by which he was surrounded. Also he muttered over and over, with tedious repetition, three meaningless words: “Hillo, Sacré,” and “Massasoit.” Other than this he gave no sign of restored consciousness. He did not take heed even when a sound of merry voices came to the place where he sat, nor was his attention attracted by a loud swish and rustle of the reeds that came ever nearer until it was close at hand. Then there was a momentary silence, broken only by the monotonous repetition of “Hillo, Sacré, Massasoit.”

      A stifled exclamation and excited whispers announced that these words had at length reached human ears, but there was an evident hesitation while fear struggled with curiosity. After a minute the reeds in front of Nahma were noiselessly parted, and the bow of a canoe stole into sight inch by inch with almost imperceptible motion. From it peered the face of a young girl, bright and fascinating, but big-eyed with apprehension as that of a startled fawn. As she caught a glimpse of the wounded youth the progress of the canoe was instantly arrested, while the girl became rigidly motionless. Her eyes, however, took in every detail of his appearance and of his melancholy situation. He still appeared to see nothing and still repeated the words that had attracted attention, “Hillo, Sacré, Massasoit.”

      “What is it, sister? What do you see?” came in a frightened whisper from an unseen speaker who occupied the farther end of the canoe; but the other, still gazing motionless, made no reply. “Aeana,” insisted the invisible one in a louder tone, “tell me quickly what you see. I am frightened.”

      “I see nothing to be afraid of, Otshata,” replied the girl in the bow of the canoe. “It is a young man, but he is evidently sorely wounded and regards not our presence. There, you may see for yourself.” With this the girl called Aeana pulled the canoe into such a position that the other could catch a glimpse of Nahma.

      “It is certain that he is handsome,” whispered Otshata; “but is not his condition dreadful? Let us hasten and report it to our father.”

      “No,” answered Aeana, decisively. “That is,” she added, “we will return to our father, and that quickly, but we must either take this young man with us or leave him to perish. See you not that the river is flowing backward and that its waters are rising? If we leave him he must die, since he is in no condition to care for himself. How we may get him into the canoe I know not, but if that can be done we will carry him to Kaweras, our father.”

      The elder though more timid sister attempted a further expostulation, but without heeding her Aeana brought the canoe close to where the wounded youth still sat, indifferent alike to his fate and his surroundings, idly repeating the strange words that had fixed themselves in his bewildered brain. Aeana spoke to him, but he failed to comprehend what she said. She laid a gentle hand on his arm and endeavored to persuade him into the canoe, but he sat passively motionless.

      Finally in despair the girl uttered one of the strange words that he so constantly repeated. “Massasoit,” she said, and the youth looked at her, seeming for the first time to recognize her presence. A faint smile flickered across his blood-smeared features, and he made a movement towards her. In another moment, aided by her supple strength, he had gained the interior of the canoe, and lay weakly with closed eyes while the two girls pulled it out from among the reeds. Then seizing their paddles, they urged the light craft swiftly down the river towards their father’s lodge.

      Thus did the daughters of Kaweras, who had been sent to fetch a bundle of stout reeds that might serve as shafts for bird arrows, return without them, but bringing a wounded and unconscious youth in their place.

      Although the old arrow-maker saw at a glance that the young warrior was not of the Maqua, nor even of the Iroquois people, his ideas of hospitality did not permit him to ask questions nor hesitate a moment before attending to the stranger’s needs. It required the united strength of father and daughters to transfer Nahma from canoe to lodge, and when he was finally laid in the latter on a hastily improvised couch of boughs and skins, he was once more to all appearance dead.

CHAPTER VI

      IN THE LODGE OF THE ARROW-MAKER

      The lodge of Kaweras, occupied only by him and his two daughters, stood by itself in a grassy glade shaded by elms on the western bank of the lordly Shatemuc. Close at hand flowed a spring of crystal water, while at no great distances were abundant materials for the prosecution of the old arrow-maker’s trade. Nearby hills furnished him with flints and slate, agate and milk-white quartz; stout reeds and tough, straight-grained woods were to be had for the taking. Deer of the forest yielded him their strong back-sinews for binding arrow-head to shaft, and myriads of sea-fowl flying up or down the broad river gave him of their feathers. In his younger days Kaweras had been a noted warrior. Now he was the most expert arrow-maker of the region in which he dwelt. He was also a mystic, a prophet, and one well versed in the science of healing by means of herbs, roots, bark, and leaves.

      In his double capacity of arrow-maker and medicine-man Kaweras was much sought after, and though his lodge stood remote from any village of his people, it was rarely without visitors. Young warriors came for arrows and to catch glimpses of his pretty daughters; their elders came to consult with him concerning grave affairs; while many of all ages and both sexes came for healing or to profit by his advice. As all brought gifts, Kaweras was well-to-do, and his larder was always stocked with choicest products of forest and field without effort on his own part or that of his daughters.

      These last kept tidy the spacious lodge with its three divisions, of which only the outer one was for the general public, prepared the family meals, and did much sewing with needles of fishbone threaded with fibre or sinew. At the same time they found abundant leisure for paddling on the river in their canoe of white birch brought from the far north and for attending to the needs of their pets, two tame fawns and a large flock of wild ducks bred in captivity. Also they helped their father in the making of arrows, and especially in the gathering of material.

      With this busy but uneventful life the elder sister was quite content, but Aeana always longed for excitement and adventure. Now she had found both in the coming to their quiet lodge of a stranger, young, mysterious, wounded to the point of death, and speaking a language to which even the wisdom of her father could find no clue. Furthermore, she regarded him with a proprietary interest, for had she not discovered him and rescued him from almost certain destruction?

      During the long illness that followed his coming, and while he lay oblivious to his surroundings, she often gazed curiously upon his face, listened to the three strange words that he repeated to the exclusion of all others, and speculated concerning him. She became impatient for him to get well that he might tell her who he was, where he came from, and how he happened to be in the sad plight that had so nearly proved fatal. She would have talked of him to their many visitors but for her father’s expressed wish that Nahma’s presence in their lodge should be kept a secret from all men. Kaweras hoped thus to learn something concerning him from unguarded conversations, but in this he was disappointed. It is true that he heard of the mysterious disappearance of Nahma, the son of Longfeather, but whenever that youth was mentioned Miantinomo was described, and as this description did not coincide in any particular with the appearance of his patient, he had no reason to connect the two.

      Otshata was quite as much interested in the young stranger as was her sister, but in another way. She thought him very handsome, which Aeana would not admit, and secretly rejoiced in the helplessness that depended so largely upon her gentle ministrations. She had the motherly instinct that found pleasure in self-sacrifice, and from the first constituted

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