Роберт Чамберс - The Hidden Children

"When on my lodge door they nail the Oneida stars, and seal my door with the moon of Tharon, and lay long shadows there to bar it; then I, within the darkness there, shall hear the tender rustle of her clinging husks, parting to cradle two where one alone had slept since she was born."

Gently I drew the points, closing the cape around her slender throat, knotted the laces, smoothed out the thrums, took her small hands and laid them on my breast.

One by one the stately Indians came to make their homage, bending their war–crests proudly and placing her hands upon their painted breasts. Then they went away in silence, each to his proper post, no doubt. Yet, to be certain, I desired to make my rounds, and bade Lois await me there. But I had not proceeded three paces when lo! Of a sudden she was at my side, laughing her soft defiance at me in the darkness.

"No orders do I take save what I give myself," she said. "Which is no mutiny, Euan, and no insubordination either, seeing that you and I are one—or are like to be when the brigade chaplain passes—if the Tories meddle not with his honest scalp! Come! Honest Euan, shall we make our rounds together? Or must I go alone?"

And she linked her arm in mine and put one foot forward, looking up at me with all the light mischief of the very boy she seemed in her soft rifle–dress and leggins, and the bright hair crisply curling 'round her moleskin cap.

"Have a care of the trees, then, little minx," I said.

"Pooh! Can you not see in the dark?"

"Can you?"

"Surely. When you and I went to the Spring Waiontha, I needed not your lantern light to guide me."

"I see not well by night," I admitted.

"You do see well by night—through my two eyes! Are we not one? How often must I repeat it that you and I are one! One! One! O Loskiel—stealer of hearts, if you could only know how often on my knees I am before you—how truly I adore, how humbly, scarcely daring to believe my heart that tells me such a tale of magic and enchantment—after these barren, loveless years. Mark! Yonder stands the Grey–Feather! Is that his post?"

"Wonder–eyes, I see him not! Wait—aye, you are right. And he is at his post. Pass to the left, little minx."

And so we made the rounds, finding every Indian except the Sagamore at his post. He lay asleep. And after we had returned to our southern ledge of rock, and I had spread my blanket for her and laid my pack to pillow her, I picked up my rifle and rose from my knees.

"And you?" she asked.

"I stand guard across the trail below."

"Why? When all except the Siwanois are watching! The Night Hawk is there. Stretch yourself here beside me and try to sleep. Your watch will come too soon to suit you, or me either, for that matter."

"Do you mean to go on guard with me?"

"Do you dream that I shall let you stand your guard alone, young sir?"

"This is folly, Lois—"

"Euan, you vex me. Lie beside me. Here is sufficient blanket room and pillow. And if you do not sleep presently and let me sleep too, our wits will all be sadly addled when they summon us."

So I stretched myself out beside her and looked up, open eyed, into darkness.

"Sleep well," she whispered, smothering a little laugh.

"Sleep safely, Lois."

"That is why I desired you—so I might sleep safely, knowing myself safe when you are, too. And you are safe only when you are at my side. Do you follow my philosophy?"

I said presently: "This is our White Bridal, Lois. The ceremony completes itself by dawn."

"Save that the Sagamore is but a heathen priest, truly I feel myself already wedded to you, so solemn was our pretty rite…. Dare you kiss me, Euan? You never have. Christians betrothed may kiss each other once, I think."

"Not such as we—if the rite means anything to us."

"Why?"

"Not on the White Bridal night—if we regard this rite as sacred."

"I feel its sacredness. That is why I thought no sin if you should kiss me—on such a night."

She sat up in her blanket; and I sat up, too.

"Tekasenthos," [13] "I am weeping." she said.

"Chetena, [14] "Mouse." you are laughing!"

"Neah. Tekasenthos!" [15] "No, I am weeping." she insisted.

"Why?"

"You do not love me," she remarked, kicking off one ankle moccasin.

"Kenonwea–sasita–ha–wiyo, chetenaha!" [16] "I love your beautiful foot, little mouse." I said, laughing.

"Akasita? Katontats. [17] "My foot? I consent." But is that all of me you love?"

"The other one also."

"The other one also."

* "Neah–wenh–a, [18] "I thank you." O Loskiel. I shall presently slay you and go to sleep."

There fell a silence, then:

"Do you not know in your heart how it is with me?" I said unsteadily.

She lay down, facing me.

"In my heart I know, beloved above all men! But I am like a child with you—desiring to please, ardent, confused, unaccustomed. And everything you say delights me—and all you do—or refrain from doing—thrills me with content…. It was so true and sweet of you to leave my lips untouched. I adore you for it—but then I had adored you if you had kissed me, also. Always, your decision pleasures me."

After a long while I spoke cautiously. She lay asleep, her lips scarce parted; but in her sleep she seemed to hear my voice, for one arm stole out in the dark and closed around my neck.

And so we lay until the dark forms gliding from the forest summoned me to mount my guard, and Lois awoke with a little sigh, sat upright, then sprang to her feet to face the coming dawn alone with me.

By daybreak we had salted our parched corn, soaked, and eaten it, and my Indians were already freshening their paint. The Sagamore, stripped for battle, barring clout and sporran, stood tall and powerfully magnificent in his white and vermilion hue of war. On his broad chest the scarlet Ghost Bear reared; on his crest the scarlet feathers slanted low. The Yellow Moth was unbelievably hideous in the poisonous hue of a toad–stool; his crest and all his skin glistened yellow, shining like the sulphurous belly of a snake. But the Grey–Feather was ghastly; his bony features were painted like a skull, spine, ribs, and limb–bones traced out heavily in yellowish white so that he seemed a stalking and articulated skeleton as he moved in the dim twilight of the trees. And I could see that he was very proud of the effect.

As for the young and ambitious Night Hawk, he had simply made one murderous symbol of himself—a single and terrific emblem of his entire body, for he was painted black from head to foot like an Iroquois executioner, and his skin glistened as the plumage of a sleek crow shines in the sunlight of a field. Every scalp–lock was neatly braided and oiled; every crown shaven; every knife and war–axe and rifle–barrel glimmered silver bright under the industrious rubbing; flints had been renewed; with finest priming powder pans reprimed; and now all my Indians squatted amiably together in perfect accord, very loquacious in their guarded voices, Iroquois, Mohican, and Stockbridge, foregathering as though there had never been a feud in all the world.

Through the early dusk of morning, Lois had stolen away, having discovered a spring pool to bathe in, the creek water being dark and bitter; and I had freshened myself, too, when she returned, her soft cheeks abloom, and the crisp curls still wet with spray.

When we had eaten, the Sagamore rose and moved noiselessly down the height of land to the trail level, where our path entered the ghostly gloom of the evergreens. I followed; Lois followed me, springing lightly from tussock to rotting log, from root to bunchy swale, swift, silent footed, dainty as a lithe and graceful panther crossing a morass dry–footed.