After the fatigues of the day comes the long and pleasant evening. A
bright fire burned in the wigwam of the chief, and many of the Indians
were smoking around it, but Wenona was sad, and she took but little part
in the laughter and merriment of the others.
Red Cloud boasted of his bravery and his deeds of valor; even the old
men listened to him with respect, for they knew that his name was a
terror to his enemies. But Wenona turned from him! she hated to hear the
sound of his voice.
The old men talked of the mighty giant of the Dahcotahs, he who needed
not to take his gun to kill the game he wanted; the glance of his eye
would strike with death the deer, the buffalo, or even the bear.
The song, the jest, the legend, by turns occupied them until they
separated to sleep. But as the warriors stepped into the open air, why
does the light of the moon fall upon faces pale with terror? "See!" said
the chief, "how flash the mysterious lights! there is danger near, some
dreadful calamity is threatening us."
"We will shoot at them," said Red Cloud; "we will destroy their power.
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