Indian Legends of Minnesota Part 6

He ceased, and soon, departing through the night, She watched his burly form till out of sight.

And then the Raven spoke in whispers low: "Gray Cloud demands our daughter's hand, and she Unto his tipi very soon must go."

Winona's mother sought to make reply, But something checked her in his tone or eye.

Again the Raven spoke, imperiously: "Winona is of proper age to wed; Her suitor suits me, let no more be said."

Winona heard no more; a rising wave Of mingled indignation, fear, and shame Like a resistless tempest shook her frame, The earth swam round her, and her senses reeled; Better for her a thousand times the grave Than life in Gray Cloud's tent, but what could she Against the stern, implacable decree Of one whose will was never known to yield?

Winona fled, scarce knowing where or how; Fled like a phantom through the moonlight cool, Until she stood upon the rocky brow That overlooked a deep sequestered pool, Where slumbering in a grove-encircled bay Lake Minnetonka's purest waters lay.

Unto the brink she rushed, but faltered there-- Life to the young is sweet; in vain her eye Swept for a moment grove and wave and sky With mute appeal. But see, two white swans fair Gleamed from the shadows that o'erhung the sh.o.r.e, Like moons emerging from a sable screen; Swimming abreast, what haughty king and queen, With arching necks their regal course they bore.

Winona marveled at the unwonted sight Of white swans swimming there at dead of night, Her frenzy half beguiling with the scene.

Unearthly heralds sure, for in their wake What ruddy furrows seamed the placid lake.

Almost beneath her feet they came, so near She might have tossed a pebble on their backs, When lo, their long necks pierced the waters clear, As down they dove, two shafts of purest light, And chasing fast on their descending tracks, A swarm of spirals luminous and white, Swirled to the gloom of nether depths from sight.

Then all was still for some few moments' s.p.a.ce, So smooth the pool, so vanished every trace, It seemed that surely the fantastic pair Had been but snowy phantoms pa.s.sing there.

Winona hardly hoped to see them rise, But while she gazed with half-expectant eyes, The waters strangely quivered in a place About the bigness of a tipi's s.p.a.ce, Where weirdly lighting up the hollow wave Beat a deep-glowing heart, whose pulsing ray Now faded to a rosy flush away, Now filled with fiery glare the farthest cave.

A shapeless bulk arose, then, taking form, Bloomed forth upon the bosom of the lake A crystal rose, or hillock mammiform, And round its base the curling foam did break As round a sunny islet in a storm; And on it poised a swiftly changing form, With filmy mantle falling musical, And colors of the floating bubble's ball, Fair and elusive as the sprites that play, Bright children of the sun-illumined spray, 'Mid rainbows of a mountain waterfall.

Then mingling with the falling waters came In whispers sibilant Winona's name; So indistinct and low that voice intense, That she, half frightened, cowering in the gra.s.s In much bewilderment at what did pa.s.s, Till thrice repeated noted not its sense.

She rose, and on the very brink defined, Against the sky in silhouette outlined, Erect before the Water-Demon stood.

Again those accents weird her wonder stirred, And this is what the listening maiden heard: "Thy fate, Winona, hangs on thine own choice To scorn or heed the Water-Demon's voice.

Gone are thy pleasant days of maidenhood, And evil hours draw nigh, but knowest thou not, That what thou fleest is the common lot Of all thy sisters? Thou must be the bride Of one thou lovest not, must toil for him, Watch for his coming, and endure his whim; Must share his tent, and lying at his side Weep for another till thine eyes grow dim.

And he, so fondly loved, will pa.s.s thee by Indifferent with cold averted eye; E'en he, whose wanton hands and hated arms Have crushed the fair flower of thy maidenhood, Will weary of thy swiftly-fading charms, And seek another when thy beauty wanes.

Aha, thou shudderest; in thy tense veins, Fierce and rebellious, leaps the mingling blood Of countless warriors, high of soul and brave; And would'st thou quench their spirit 'neath the wave?

Is Gray Cloud's life more dear to thee than thine?

The village sleeps, unguarded is his tent, Thy knife is keen, and unto thee is lent A spell to-night of potency malign.

Cradled in blissful dreams alone he lies, And he shall stray so deep in sleep's dominions, He would not waken though the rus.h.i.+ng pinions Of his own Thunder-Bird should shake the sky.

All freedom-loving spirits are with thee, Strike hard and fear not as thou would'st be free; Lest thine own hatred prove too weak a charm, The Water-Demon's hate shall nerve thine arm."

The Water-Demon sank and disappeared, And faint and fainter fell those accents weird, Until the air was silent as the grave, Still as December's crystal seal the wave.

Homeward again Winona took her way.

How changed in one short hour! no longer now The song-birds singing at her heart, but there A thousand gnas.h.i.+ng furies made their lair, And urged her on; her nearest pathway lay Over a little hill, and on its brow A group of trees, whereof each blackened bough Bore up to heaven as if in protest mute Its cl.u.s.tering load of ghastly charnel fruit,[12]

The swaddled forms of all the village dead-- Maid, l.u.s.ty warrior, and toothless hag, The infant and the conjurer with his bag, Peacefully rotting in their airy bed.

As on a battle plain she saw them lie, Fouling the fairness of the moonlit sky; And heavily there flapped above her head, Some floating drapery or tress of hair, Loading with pestilential breath the air That fanned her temples, or the reeking wing Of unclean bird obscenely hovering; And something crossed her path that halting nigh, At the intruder glared with evil eye,-- She hardly heeded pa.s.sing swiftly by.

Leaving behind that hideous umbrage fast, What wraith escaping from its tenement, Winona through the sleeping village pa.s.sed, And pausing not, to Gray Cloud's tipi went, Laid back the door, and with a stealthy tread, Entered and softly crouched beside his head.

Her gaze that seemed to pierce his inmost thought, Keen as the ready knife her hand had sought, And through the open door the slant moonbeams Smiting the sleeper's face awaked him not.

He vaguely muttered in his wandering dreams Of "medicine," and of the Thunder-Bird.

As if to go, her knife she half returned; Whether her woman's heart with pity stirred, Or superst.i.tious awe, she slightly turned, But gazing still, over his features came The semblance of a smile, and his arms moved, Clasping in rosy dreams some form beloved, And his lips moved, and though no sound she heard, She thought they shaped her name, and a red flame Leaped to her brain, and through her vision pa.s.sed; A raging demon seized and filled her frame, And like a lightning flash leaped forth her knife: That cold keen heart-pang is his last of life; The Water-Demon is avenged at last.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

PART III.

She struck but once, no need hath lightning stroke For second blow to rend the heart of oak, Nor waited there to see how Gray Cloud died; Her fury all in that fierce outburst spent, As from a charnel cave she fled the tent; The wolfish dog suspiciously outside Sniffed at her moccasins but let her pa.s.s.

Her tipi soon she reached, distant no more Than arrow from a warrior's bowstring sent, Paused but to wipe her knife upon the gra.s.s, And found her usual couch upon the floor.

But not to sleep; she closed her eyes in vain, Shutting away the moonlight from her view; Darkness and moonlight wore the same dread hue, Flooding the universe with crimson stain.

She clasped her bosom with her hands to still The throbbing of her heart that seemed to fill With tell-tale echoes all the air; an owl The secret with unearthly shrieks confessed, And Gray Cloud's dog sent forth a doleful howl At intervals; but worse than all the rest, That dreadful drum still beating in her breast, As furious war-drums in the scalp-dance beat To the mad circling of delirious feet.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "THE GIANT CLIFFS OF RED-WING SPREADING BACK."]

Early next morning, as the first faint rays Of sunlight through the rustling lindens played, Two children sent to seek the conjurer's aid, Gazed on the sight, with horror and amaze, Of Gray Cloud's lifeless body rolled in blood.

Fast through the village spread the news, and stirred With mingled fear and wonder all who heard.

The oracles were baffled and dismayed, And spoke with m.u.f.fled tones and looks of dread: "Some envious foeman lurking in the wood, With medicine more strong than his," they said, "Stole in last night and gave the fatal wound."

The warriors scoured the country miles around, Seeking for sign or trail, but naught they found: The murderer left behind no clue or trace More than a vampire's flight through darkling s.p.a.ce.

The Raven with a stoic calmness heard Of Gray Cloud's death, nor showed by look or word The wrath that to its depth his being stirred.

Winona heard the news with false surprise, As if just roused from sleep she rubbed her eyes; When she arose her knees like aspens shook, But this she quelled and forced a tranquil look To feign the calmness that her soul forsook.

And when the mourning wail rose on the air, Winona's voice was heard commingling there.

She gathered with the other maidens where, On a rude bier, the conjurer's body lay Adorned and decked in funeral array.

She flung a handful of her sable hair, And wept such tears above the painted clay[13]

As weeps a youthful widow, only heir, Over the coffin of a millionaire.

Moons waxed to fullness and to sickles waned.

The gossips still conversed with bated breath.

The appalling mystery of Gray Cloud's death, Wrapped in impenetrable gloom, remained A blighting shadow o'er the village spread.

But youthful spirits are invincible, Nor fear nor superst.i.tion long can quell The bubbling flow of that perennial well; And so the youths and maidens soon regained The wonted gayety that late had fled.

All save Winona, in whose face and mien, Unto the careless eye, no change was seen; But one that noted might sometimes espy A furtive fear that shot across her eye, As in a forest, 'thwart some bit of blue, Darts a rare bird that shuns the hunter's view.

Her laugh, though gay, a subtle change confessed, And in her att.i.tude a vague unrest Betrayed a world of feelings unexprest.

A shade less light her footsteps in the dance, And sometimes now the Raven's curious glance Her soul with terrors new and strange oppressed.

Grief shared is lighter, none had she to share Burdens that grew almost too great to bear, For Redstar sometimes seemed to look askance, And sought, they said, to win another breast.

Winona feigned to laugh, but in her heart The rumor rankled like a poisoned dart.

Sometimes she almost thought the Raven guessed The guilty secrets that her thoughts oppressed, And sought, whene'er she could, to shun his sight.

Apart from human kind, still more and more, The Raven dwelt, and human speech forbore.

And once upon a wild tempestuous night, When all the demons of the earth and air Like raging furies were embattled there, She, peering fearfully, amid the swarm Flitting athwart the flashes of the storm, By fitful gleams beheld the Raven's form.

To her he spoke not since the fateful night His chosen comrade pa.s.sed from human sight, Save only once, forgetting he was by And half forgetting too her care and woes, Unto her lips some idle jest arose.

"Winona," said the Raven, in a tone Of stern reproof that on the instant froze All thought of mirth, and when she met his eye, As by a serpent's charm it fixed her own; The hate and anger of a soul intense Were all compressed in that remorseless glance, The coldly cruel meaning of whose sense Smote down the s.h.i.+eld of her false innocence.

She strove to wrest her eye from his in vain, Held by that gaze ophidian like a bird, As in a trance she neither breathed nor stirred.

And gazing thus an icy little lance, Smaller than quill from wing of humming-bird, Shot from his eyes, and a keen stinging pain Sped through the open windows of her brain.

Her senses failed, she sank upon the ground, And darkness veiled her eyes; she never knew How long this was, but when she slowly grew Back from death's counterfeit, and looked around, So little change was there, that it might seem The scene had been but a disordered dream.

The Raven sat in his accustomed place, Smoking his solitary pipe; his face, A gloomy mask that none might penetrate, Betrayed no sign of anger, grief, or hate; Absorbed so deep in thoughts that none might share, He noted not Winona's presence there; From his disdainful lips the thin blue smoke From time to time in little spirals broke, Floating like languid sneers upon the air, And settling round him in a veil of blue So sinister to her disordered view, That she arose and quickly stole away.

She shunned him more than ever from that day, And never more unmoved could she behold That countenance inscrutable and cold.

But Hope and Love, like Indian summer's glow, Gilding the prairies ere December's snow, Lit with a transient beam Winona's eye.

The season for the Maidens' Dance drew nigh, And Redstar vowed, whatever might betide, To claim her on the morrow as his bride.

What now to her was all the world beside?

The evil omens darkening all her sky, Malicious sneers, her rival's envious eye, While her false lover lingered at her side, All pa.s.sed like thistle-down unheeded by.

The evening for the dance arrived at last; An ancient crier through the village pa.s.sed, And summoned all the maidens to repair To the appointed place, a greensward where, Since last year unprofaned by human feet, Rustled the prairie gra.s.s and flowers sweet.

None but the true and pure might enter there-- Maidens whose souls unspotted had been kept.

At set of sun the circle there was formed, And thitherward the happy maidens swarmed.

The people gathered round to view the scene: Old men in broidered robes that trailing swept, And youths in all their finery arrayed, Dotting like tropic birds the prairie green, Their rival graces to the throng displayed.

Winona came the last, but as she stept Into the mystic ring one word, "Beware!"

Rang out in such a tone of high command That all was still, and every look was turned To where the Raven stood; his stern eye burned, And like a flower beneath that withering glare She faded fast. No need that heavy hand To lead Winona from the joyous band; No need those shameful words that stained the air: "Let not the sacred circle be defiled By one who, all too easily beguiled, Beneath her bosom bears a warrior's child."

Winona swiftly fleeing, as she pa.s.sed, One look upon her shrinking lover cast That seared his coward heart for many a day, Into the deepest woods she took her way.

The dance was soon resumed, and as she fled, Like hollow laughter chasing overhead, Pursued the music and the maidens' song.

Just as she pa.s.sed from sight an angry eye Glared for a moment from the western sky, And flung one quivering shaft of dazzling white, With tenfold thunder-peal, adown the night.

Her mother followed her, and sought her long, Calling and listening through the falling dew, While fast and furious still the cadence grew Of the gay dance, whose distant music fell, Smiting the mother like a funeral knell.