Sketches in Duneland. Earl H. Reed
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to wait.
Wa-be-no-je rose from a log on which they had been sitting, near a group of the older men, stepped forward and volunteered to follow the fire and find the game. With care the scant supply of food would be sufficient to support his companions for two moons. If he did not return by the end of that time they would understand that his quest had failed.
A few simple preparations were made for his journey. With forebodings in her heart, with love light shining through her tears, little Taheta saw him depart into the charred wastes on his errand of salvation. No mailed knight ever rode out upon the path to glory with brighter eyes upon him than those that glowed under the long lashes of the Pottawattomie maiden, as she gazed longingly after him from the edge of the ravine. She watched his lithe, sinewy figure as he bravely strode away and faded into the distance. She went back in sorrow and began with the others to endure patiently the long wait and suspense which they knew was inevitable before the hunter’s return.
It was agreed that every night at sundown a fire should be built on the lofty top of Wud-ju-na-gow, and kept burning until dawn, during Wa-be-no-je’s absence. If he was where he could see this light, he would know that his people were still in the ravine, and in the darkness it would take the place of burned landmarks to guide him on his return journey. Ten members of the little band, including Taheta, were to perform this duty, and each night one of them climbed the zigzag trail to the sandy top, kindled the beacon fire, watched and replenished it until sunrise, and returned.
From miles away the young hunter could see the tiny light against the sky. When its glow was very bright he knew that one he loved was near it. He tramped on through the ashes and débris for many days. At night he climbed to some high spot and slept. One afternoon he reached a sandy stretch where the trees were scattered and there were few grasses. The wind had evidently lulled when the fire reached this area for the burnt places ended. He began to find the game trails leading from them, which he followed for several days. The signs became fresher, and one morning his eyes were gladdened by the sight of deer and buffalo peacefully grazing beyond a small river that he had never seen before.
Fearing that the animals might move on and be beyond reach before he could return and obtain help, he decided to kill as many as possible and preserve and hide the meat. Its transportation would then be a comparatively simple matter, and he was sure that he could secure enough for the winter’s supply.
He set cautiously to work. The noiseless arrows brought down one of the buffalo and a deer the first day. He killed no more until this meat was cut into little strips, strung on many switches, smoked over fires of dried leaves and dead wood, and thoroughly dried in the sun. He enlarged a small cave under some rocks by digging away the sand. He made a floor of dead leaves inside on which to pile his stores, and carefully walled up the opening with stones to protect the precious contents from the wolves and other prowlers. The game was gradually moving away, but before it disappeared the cave was well filled and there was more than enough to last his people for a year.
The long dry period was now broken by a heavy rain storm which lasted for several days. The arid earth drank of the falling waters; the blackness and ruin upon the land were washed as with tears of atonement. The streams again flowed and the pools and marshes that give life and joy to the wild things were filled.
When the skies cleared Wa-be-no-je piled more rocks over the entrance to the cave and started homeward with a light heart. Weary miles were traversed before he could see the faint light on the horizon against the sky at night. During two nights he heard wolves howling in the distance, and the next night they were much closer. They gradually closed in toward him and he knew that danger had come. He had but two good arrows. The others were lost or broken. He came to a small stream and waded it for a mile or so to throw his hungry followers off his trail, but they soon found it again. Yellow eyeballs reflected his firelight while he slept. Once he loosed one of the precious arrows to save his life. The pack immediately fell upon their wounded comrade and devoured him. Their hunger was only partially appeased and they kept close to Wa-be-no-je until the following evening. He knew that unless he could find some means of shaking them off he would never see Taheta or his people again. He decided to attempt to pick his way through the end of a wide marsh, believing that his pursuers would not follow him into the water. If he could get safely across, he would be able to elude them.
The swamp was full of quaking bogs, and near the middle the water was quite deep. His progress was impeded by the soft mud and decayed vegetation on the bottom, and the further he went the chances became more desperate. One foot sank suddenly in the soft ooze and then the other. He could neither retreat nor go ahead. He had reached a mass of quicksand, and with every attempt to extricate himself he sank a little lower. He clutched the ends of a few sodden grasses and held them for some time, but the stagnant murky waters slowly closed over him and he was gone.
The baffled wolves howled along the margins of the marsh for a while but soon disappeared, like all enemies whose quarry has met finality. The little fire on the horizon flared up brightly, as though fresh sticks had been piled upon it, and gleamed through the darkness brighter than ever before. It faded away in the gray of the morning and its watcher followed the steep trail down the side of Wud-ju-na-gow to rest.
Wa-be-no-je’s silent departure from the world left hardly a ripple in the marsh. It is human to cherish the hope, or fondly believe, that some store of gold, or grandeur of achievement—some sculptured monument, or service to mankind—will stand at our place of exit and be eloquent while the ages last, but the Waters of Oblivion hide well their secrets. Beneath them are neither pride nor vanity. The primordial slime from which we came reclaims without pomp or jewelled vesture, and if there be a Great Beyond, poor Wa-be-no-je may reach it from the quicksand as safely as he who becomes dust within marble walls.
The early snows came and the nightly fires on Wud-ju-na-gow still glowed. Only one guardian sat beside them, for Wa-be-no-je’s people now believed that he would never return. Hope still abided in Taheta’s loyal heart, and night after night she climbed the shelving steeps and built her fire. One cold, stormy night she sat huddled in her blanket and listened to the north wind. The snow swirled around her and toward morning the light was gone. The next day they found the rigid little form in the blanket and buried it below the ashes of her fire.
Today the Fireweed, that ever haunts the burnt places, lifts its slender stalk above the spot, and it may be that the soul of faithful Taheta lurks among the tender pink blossoms—a halo that may be seen from the dark waters of the distant marsh.
III
THE HERON’S POOL
THE HERON’S POOL (From the Author’s Etching)
III
THE HERON’S POOL
The pool was far back from the big marshes through which the lazy current of the river wound. It was in one of those secluded nooks that the seeping water finds for itself when it would hide in secret retreats and form a little world of its own. It was bordered by slushy grasses and small willows; its waters spread silently among the bulrushes, lily pads and thick brush tangles. A few ghostly sycamores and poplars protruded above the undergrowth, and the intricate network of wild grape-vines concealed broken stumps that were mantled with moss. The placid pool was seldom ruffled, for the dense vegetation protected it from the winds. Wandering clouds were mirrored in its limpid depths. Water-snakes made silvery trails across it. Sinister shadows of hawks’ wings sometimes swept by, and often the splash of a frog sent little rings out over the surface. Opalescent dragon-flies hovered among the weeds and small turtles basked in the sun-light along the margins.
The Voices