Wenona bowed her head and went--even as night came on when the sun went
down. Nor did the heart of the Deer-killer reproach him, for how dare
she offend the Great Spirit! Were not the customs of his race holy
and sacred?
Little to Wenona were her father's reproaches, or her mother's curse;
that she was no more beloved was all she remembered.
Again was the Deer-killer by the side of Wanska, and she paid the
penalty. Her husband brought other wives to his wigwam, though Wanska
was ever the favorite one.
With her own hand would she put the others out of the wigwam, laughing
when they threatened to tell their lord when he returned, for Wanska
managed to tell her own story first; and, termagant as she was, she
always had her own way.
Wenona has ceased to weep, and far away in the country of the Sissetons
she toils and watches as all Indian women toil and watch. Her young son
follows her as she seeks the suffering Dahcotah, and charms the disease
to leave his feeble frame.
She tells to the child and the aged woman her dreams; she warns the
warrior what he shall meet with when he goes to battle; and ever, as the
young girls assemble to pass away the idle hours, she stops and
whispers to them.
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