ke-ne-ha-ha gazed at the old medicine man in astonishment, not unmixed with awe.
“did the great chief hear right? did my father say that he could show the wolf demon to ke-ne-ha-ha?”
“yes, the great medicine of the shawnee nation can raise the dead—can bring the evil spirit—the wolf demon—from the air, the earth, or from the fire where he has his wigwam,” chanted the old indian.
for a few moments in silence the shawnee chief looked up on the great medicine.
“my father speaks straight,” he said, at length, breaking the silence. “his tongue is not forked. is the wolf demon an indian devil?”
“no, white.”
“white!” and the chief started.
“yes, as white as the ohio waves when the great spirit lashes them with his storm-whip, and they bind white plumes around their scalp-locks.”
the chief pondered with moody brows. the old indian from the covert of his blankets watched him with searching eyes.
“then the great medicine can show me the wolf demon?”
“yes.”
“when?”
“does the chief see that green stick?” and the old indian pointed to the fire.
“yes.”
“when that stick becomes a flaming brand, then turns to a blackened coal, the wolf demon will be here.”
“in this wigwam?” asked the chief, in wonder.
“yes.”
“why not before?”
[27]
“the wolf demon is far down below the earth. his home is in the fire that burns in the mouth of the tortoise that carries the earth on his back. he can not come in an instant. the great medicine knew that ke-ne-ha-ha would seek his counsel before the young moon died. he knew that the chief would wish to see the wolf demon, and he summoned him from the land of shadows long ago. but for that, the chief would not be able to have his wish gratified to-night.”
“the wolf demon will come, then?” and instinctively ke-ne-ha-ha’s hand sought the handle of his tomahawk as he spoke.
“yes; the chief is wise to prepare, for the wolf demon comes to take his life.”
“ah!” and ke-ne ha-ha’s eyes shot lurid fires as he uttered the simple exclamation.
“does the chief fear?”
“what! the white devil? ugh! ke-ne-ha-ha’s heart is like rock. he does not fear.”
“then the chief will meet and fight the wolf demon?” asked the great medicine.
“yes, if the wolf demon comes, the chief will fight him. many great warriors have fallen by the tomahawk of the wolf demon. he is a coward. he does not attack the shawnee braves like a warrior and a man. he creeps behind them in the forest like a cat and strikes them in the back. he will not dare to meet ke-ne-ha-ha, face to face.”
“see, the green stick is burning,” and the medicine man looked toward the fire as he spoke. “when it is ashes, the chief will stand face to face with the wolf demon. he will tremble like a squaw when he sees the white man’s devil.”
“the great medicine is wise, but he lies when he says that ke-ne-ha-ha will tremble!” cried the shawnee chief, anger sparkling in his eyes. “the great fighting-man of the shawnee nation never turned his back to mortal foe, either red or white-skinned warrior. why should he fear the devil that hides in the wood, and who, like a coward, strikes his foes in the back?” and ke-ne-ha-ha drew himself up proudly, as he spoke.
“the chief has the heart of a lion; it is a pity that he should die like the snake,” said the old indian, slowly.
“when the chief dies it will be upon the war-path!” exclaimed the shawnee brave, in defiance; “a hundred scalps will hang at his belt—his hand will be red with the blood of his foe. when he enters the happy hunting-grounds, the chiefs will bow in homage, to him, and say, ‘here is a great warrior; welcome.’”
“the chief is wrong,” said the great medicine, slowly; “he will not die on the war-path. the great medicine sees the future. it is clouded to all other eyes but his. his heart is shawnee—it is torn with anguish when he reads the future and sees the desolation and dismay that must come upon the shawnee nation. before his eyes is a sea of blood, not white blood but red, the blood of the indian.”
over the brow of the chief came a gloomy cloud as he listened to the prophetic words of the old man.
his heart sunk within him as he heard the prophecy of disaster and death.
“does the great medicine read the future straight?” he asked, anxiously. “is not the blood that he sees the blood of the white settlers by the banks of the ohio? the blood of the false-hearted, crooked-tongued chiefs who have stolen the lands of the red-men and whose mouths are full of lies?”
sorrowfully the old indian shook his head.
“the blood is the life-current of the shawnees, the mingoes, the wyandots and the hurons. the heart of the great medicine is sad, but he must speak the truth.”
“then the expedition of the shawnee chief against the whites on the ohio will be defeated?” asked ke-ne-ha-ha, with a frown upon his face.
“yes.”
“the chief will go if he had ten thousand lives to lose and knew that by the act he would sacrifice them all,” said the shawnee, proudly, and with an air of dogged defiance.
“the chief has but one life to lose, and he will lose it in the shawnee village by the banks of the scioto,” said the great medicine.
ke-ne-ha-ha started as the words fell upon his ears, and a look of anger swept over his face.
“will the chief die by the hand of a spy—a snake who will creep into the shawnee village to strike him in the back?”
“no, ke-ne-ha-ha will be killed in a fair and open fight, but he will be killed in the midst of the shawnees and die in one of the wigwams of his own people.”
the chief looked puzzled at the strange words of the old indian.
“ke-ne-ha-ha does not understand; will my father speak straighter?”
“the chief does not fear then to learn the future?”
“no,” said the shawnee warrior, proudly.
“not even when he is to hear of the manner of his death?”
“a warrior must die some time. ke-ne-ha-ha is ready when the great spirit calls him.”
“good; the great medicine will speak then. he must speak words that cause him tears of blood, for they tell of the death of the shawnee chieftain.”
“ke-ne-ha-ha’s ears are open—he listens.”
“before the moon dies, a terrible figure will be in the shawnee village. all fly from its path—the birds of the night, and the insects of the earth—for it is not of human mold. the moonbeams shining in fear will show the figure of a huge gray wolf. the wolf walks on its hind legs like a man. it has the face of a human, and it is striped with war-paint, black and white. in its paw it carries a tomahawk—the edge is crusted with blood that dims the brightness of the steel. the blood comes from the veins of some of the best warriors of the shawnee nation. the little crow hunted the brown deer in the woods of the scioto. he came not back. his brother found him in the forest dead—the print of a tomahawk in his skull and a red arrow graven on his breast. watega is another great brave of the shawnee nation. not two sleeps ago he went with the white red-men—the renegades—on a scout. he has not come back to his wigwam, though the others have returned. his squaw sits in his lodge and wonders where he is. he will never come back. in a little glade on the other side of the ohio is his body—a tomahawk cut in the skull, and on his breast the totem of the red arrow.”
ke-ne-ha-ha started. the death of watega, who was one of his favorite warriors, startled him.
“watega dead!” he cried, hardly willing to believe the news.
“the great medicine has said that he sleeps the long sleep that knows no waking,” chanted the old indian, his voice coming from beneath the blankets wrapped around his head like a voice from the tomb.
“how can my father know that watega is dead?” demanded the chief, obstinately refusing to believe.
“does the shawnee chief question the power of the great medicine, and yet come to him for advice?” said the old indian, with an accent of scorn in his voice.
“my father is sure?”
“yes.”
“watega was a great warrior; peace be with him,” said the chief, solemnly.
“little crow and watega fell by the tomahawk of the wolf demon in the forest, and not an hour ago the red leaf met his death by the scioto, and the wolf demon dealt the blow.”
“ke-ne-ha-ha saw the slain brave, the last victim of the white devil,” the chief said, sorrowfully.
“no, the chief is wrong; not the last victim, for another shawnee has felt the keen edge of the tomahawk of the wolf demon, since the red leaf died by his hand.”
“another of my braves killed!” cried ke-ne-ha-ha, in wonder and in anger.
“yes, two have had the totem of the red arrow graven on their breasts since the moon rose.”
“and who was the other?”
“the great medicine can not tell the chief now, but the chief will know when the stick burns to ashes and the wolf demon comes.”
“but the fate of ke-ne-ha-ha?”
“the red chief will fall by the tomahawk of the wolf demon.”
there was silence for a few moments in the wigwam.
over the face of the shawnee chief came a look of stern resolution. there was no trace of fear in the bearing of the shawnee.
“let my father keep his word and bring the white devil,” ke-ne-ha-ha said, breaking the silence. “if the great spirit wills that the chief of the shawnee nation is to die by the hand of the scourge of his race, ke-ne-ha-ha is content. but he will fight the wolf demon before he dies.”
