Birch Bark Legends of Niagara | Page 3

the stately captives and weaving the
gaudy wampums to be bestowed, with the shy little weavers themselves,
upon such young braves as should be deemed worthy by the great
council. Their stolen glances of admiration and pity, however, were
intercepted by the young brave who brought home and so suspiciously
guarded the prisoners. He was a fierce, wicked savage, with repulsive,
glistening eyes, evincing a cunning, revengeful disposition.
[Illustration: GREAT OAK]
At the side of this savage hung a string of fresh scalps, and a gleam of
exultation shot across his swarthy visage as he pointed to the gory
trophies at his belt, saying:
"The Black Snakes scalps are fresh from his enemies; the fingers of the
Gentle Fawn cannot number them."
"The Fawn does not like the smell of blood," quickly answered the
sensitive maid. "The Black Snake is a boy, and does not know his
friends from his enemies."
"The Fawn has been taking lessons from the mocking-birds," replied
Black Snake, "and has learned many tunes; she sings now for the ears
of the sunny Eagle, whose wings are too feeble to fly. His last flight
will be short (pointing to the cataract); he will not need his wings, and
the Gentle Fawn will soon learn to sing to Black Snake. The Fawn is an
infant, and Black Snake will feed her on birds' eggs." Approaching with
a noiseless step, he continued, in a lower tone: "The Black Snake will
be a great warrior; he must build a lodge of his own whereon to hang
his enemies' scalps (shaking them in her face), and the Gentle Fawn
will light his pipe."
With a suppressed cry the Fawn sprung to her feet. In an instant from
the long wild grass, at her side appeared a huge wolf, of unusual size
and strength, which the powerful creature owed in a measure to the
affectionate care of its mistress. She had found it when young, reared
and fed it with her own hands, and they had become inseparable friends

and protectors to each other.
With an angry growl and flashing eyes the wolf warned the Indian back.
Black Snake pointed his flint-headed spear with a look of disdain at the
heart of the watchful beast. His arm was suddenly arrested by the hand
of the Sachem, Great Oak.
"Does the Black Snake make war with the women? Wouldst kill my
daughter's four-footed friend? Has the young brave only arrow-heads
for his friends? He must go back to his mother's wigwam: let her teach
him how to use them."
The dark frown passed from the Great Oak's face as he addressed his
daughter. With a watchful tenderness seldom found in the breast of a
warrior, the stern old Sagamore's voice grew soft as a woman's.
"My daughter will follow her father; he knows not his wigwam when
the Fawn and her four-footed friend are not there."
Thus saying they immediately left the discomfited brave. In passing by
the stranger captives, a sigh escaped the old Indian as he saw the
sympathetic looks that passed between them and his daughter, and
compared that noble young Chief, so soon to pass away, with the
treacherous warrior who aspired to fill the War Chief's place, and
receive his daughter with the title. The War Chief was slain on that
same expedition that conquered and brought home the prisoners.
Another was to be chosen and the captives disposed of, which was the
business that had called together Chiefs from distant places. Occupied
with sad thoughts, that brought him no comfort, he was attracted by the
low whine of the wolf, and upon turning discovered him fondling
around the captive Chief, who seemed equally pleased with him; at the
same time be caught the ill-omened look of Black Snake, distorting his
face with rage, jealousy and revenge, as it glowed from beneath his
tawdry plume of many colors. Hastening his daughter along, who was
quickly followed by the wolf as she gave a peculiar call, they passed
silently out of sight.
As the dark shadows of night; gathered closely around, made brilliant
by innumerable fire-flies, sportively decking all nature in spangles,
women and children disappeared to their wigwams, while their dusky
protectors seated themselves 'round the great fire, the red flashes of
which fell brightly on the strongly bound prisoners, proud and defiant,
awaiting their doom.

Only one more night and the mild rays of the moon would fall on good
and bad alike--would gaze on the beautiful, bright colored path over the
dark and fearful abyss they were so soon to follow to the Happy
Hunting Ground. The breaking of the waves against the rocks on the
shore, the melancholy cry of the night bird, like soft music, partially
subdued their tortured spirits, and each recalled with fond