The Flamingo Feather | Page 8

the dark figure skulking among the shadows came to little
patches of bright moonlight, and to cross these he lay flat on the ground
and writhed his way through the grass like a snake. A close observer
would have noticed a dull, steady glow which came from a round
object that the skulker carried with great care. If he had been near
enough he would have seen that this was a large gourd, in which, on a
bed of sand, were a quantity of live coals taken from one of the fires
that still smouldered about the epola, or place of dancing. In his other
hand the man carried a few fat-pine splinters that would burn almost
like gun-powder.
At length, without having attracted attention from any one of the
encamped Indians, or the drowsy guards upon whom they depended for
safety, the figure reached the granary, and disappeared amid the dark
shadows of its walls. Crouching to the ground, and screening his gourd
of coals with his robe, he thrust into it one end of the bundle of fat-pine
splinters and blew gently upon them. They smoked for a minute, and
then burst into a quick blaze.
Beginning at one end of the granary, this torch was applied to the dry
thatch that covered it, and it instantly sprang into flame. As the figure

ran along the end of the structure, around the corner, and down the
entire length of its side, always keeping in the shadow, he applied the
torch in a dozen places, and then flinging it on top of the low roof,
where it speedily ignited the covering, he bounded away into the
darkness, uttering, as he did so, a long-drawn, ear-piercing yell of
triumph.
By the time the nodding guards had discovered the flames and given
the alarm, the whole granary was in a blaze, and the startled Indians,
who rushed out from the lodges and palmetto booths, could do nothing
but stand helpless and gaze at the destruction of their property. All
asked how it had happened, and who had done this thing, but not even
the guards could offer the slightest explanation.
Meantime the author of all this mischief stopped when he had gained
what he considered a safe distance from the fire, and, concealed by the
friendly shadows of the forest, stood with folded arms and scowling
features gazing at the result of his efforts. At length the light from the
burning building grew so bright that even the shadow in which he stood
began to be illuminated, and he turned to go away. As he did so he
shook his clenched hand towards the burning granary, and muttered,
"The white man and the red man shall both learn to dread the fangs of
the Snake, for thus do I declare war against them both."
As he spoke, a voice beside him, that he instantly recognized as that of
Has-se, exclaimed, "What! is this thy work, Chitta?"
For answer Has-se received a terrible blow, full in the face, that
stretched him, stunned and bleeding, on the ground; and Chitta, saying,
"Lie there, miserable Bow-bearer, I will meet thee again," sprang out
into the forest and disappeared.
When Has-se, aroused by the shouts of the guards and the glare of light,
had rushed from the lodge in which he slept, he had seen a figure
standing between him and the light, and had approached it to learn the
cause of all the excitement. He was just about to speak, when he
recognized Chitta, and heard him utter the words that at once declared
him to be the author of the conflagration and the enemy of his people

and their friends.
Not being able to appreciate the petty spirit of revenge that influenced
the Snake, Has-se gave utterance to his exclamation of surprise, and in
return received the cruel blow for which he was so little prepared.
When he recovered consciousness he found himself in his father's lodge,
lying on a bed of deer-skins, while his sister, the beautiful Nethla, was
bathing his temples with cold water.
It was now broad daylight, and the great granary, with all its contents,
had been reduced to a heap of smouldering ruins. About the lodge in
which Has-se lay were gathered a great crowd of Indians, awaiting his
return to consciousness, to learn what he knew of the occurrences of the
past few hours, and in what way he had been connected with them. By
the earliest light of day a band of experienced warriors had tracked his
assailant from the spot in which the young Bow-bearer had been
discovered, through the tall grass and underbrush from which the
fugitive had brushed the dew in his flight to the river's edge. Here one
of the canoes that had been