Malaeska: The Indian Wife of the White Hunter

meadow lands, t

mble, there's no

, sweet, s

o place l

o place l

bright fire before she spread the tiger-skin for William's bed, which she trusted would keep all venomous things away. They ate their supper under a huge white pine, that absorbed the firelight in its dusky branches, and made every thing gloomy around. As the darkness closed over them William grew silent, and by the he

t should cheer him. She found some seed-cakes, golden and sweet, which only broug

e go back to grandfather and grand

think about that," sa

how can I?" persisted

an your grandfather-more than you l

you to die, only to go

beautiful home in the wo

'm tired of

of the

n, but it isn't home, no way. How far is

l never-never go there again," said the Ind

led in her emb

se, and sleep in a soft bed, and-and-there, now, it is goi

moaned hoarsely through the pines. Malaeska was greatly distress

rt you. To-morrow we will row the boat al

oy, brightening a little; "bu

re the Indians live. The brave warrio

ant to be a ki

who shall go to the war

pretty bow and arrow, Malaeska; wou

oy, don't

nd is cold; how it sobs in the pine boug

ap this cloak about you, and no rain can come through the fur blanket. We are brav

under and lightning makes your eyes bright, but I don't like it; so t

"Listen, William; the Indians-my people-the brave Indians wa

ate the

, n

fierce a

you-not

ive with t

people-you shall

lled my

I saved you and brought y

grandmother

onged to t

the I

r loved these In

ut they k

was in

ttle; did y

t he had turned enemy. A great chief met him in the midst of the

this great chi

ered the Indian woman, h

ge that they should hate each ot

ing against the tears that choked her wo

! Did my father l

r her deer-skin robe, and pressed hard against her heart; but

athering darkly over them. Malaeska wrapped him in her cloak, and sheltered him with her person. The rain began to p

s here," she said, cheering his despondency. "I will heap pi

e thick foliage overhead, revealing depths of darkness that was enough to terrify a

led dry wood recklessly on the fire, hopin

recipice over the stream, and the light of Malaeska's fire gle

vely against the storm, saw the ligh

an would keep up a fire like that

ur men stole away from the boat, and crept stealthily up the hill, guided by the lightning and the gleaming fire above. Th

ealed to Malaeska, who regarded him with mournful affection. The cold wind chilled her throu

od close by Malaeska before she had the least idea of their approach. Then a blacker shadow than fell from the pine, darke

ng the sleeping boy close to her heart, lifted h

ng him down to the boat," said the old m

a fiercely. "Nothing but the Great

the boy. He struggled in her arms,

e me home. I do want to go home,"

e lips. It was the cry of a heart that snapped its strongest fiber there and then. The boy wished to leave her. She had no streng

w them lift him into the boat and push off, leaving her to the pitiless night. It was a cruel thing-bitterly cruel-but the p

me too. Malae

d dashed after her tormenters, pulling fiercely through the storm. But with all her desperate energy, she was not ab

orted herself by selling painted baskets and such embroideries as the Indians excel in. It was a lonely life,

farewell. In all the bitter anguish of that parting Malaeska kept her faith, and smothering the great want of her soul, saw her son depart without putting forth the holy claim of her motherhood. One