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Updated: June 19, 2025
The Indian watched them narrowly. "My son is mistaken," said Father Claude, quietly. "His sister has wandered away. It may be that she has even now returned." "No, my Father. The white brave has stolen her." Menard got up, and spoke with feeling. "Tegakwita does not understand. The white brave was foolish. He is a young warrior. He does not know the use of patience.
The others were asleep, and suspected nothing until the morning. Then Father Claude, who came and went freely among the Indians, brought word that he had been caught a league to the north. The Indians bound him, and tied him to stakes in a strongly guarded hut. This much the priest learned from Tegakwita, the warrior who had guarded them on the night of their capture.
At this thought Menard quietly moved farther from the undergrowth. Tegakwita's quick eyes followed the movement. "Come," said the Captain, "the night is nearly gone. I cannot wait longer." "Tegakwita has worked hard. His heart is sick, his body lame. Will the Big Buffalo help his Onondaga brother?" "Yes." The Indian rose with too prompt relief.
"You will take your weapons to the grave?" asked Menard, very quietly, but with a suggestion that the other understood. "Yes. Tegakwita has no place for his weapons. He must carry them where he goes." "We can leave them here. The leaves will hide them. I will put the hatchet under this log."
She took a flower from the bunch at her breast, and stood motionless in the low doorway, pulling the petals apart, one by one and watching the little group within. The priest and the Captain were sitting on the ground, Menard with his hands clasped easily about his knees. Tegakwita stood erect, with his back to the door.
Then, after a space, his eyes, sweeping back and forth along the edge of the brush, rested on a bright bit of metal that for an instant caught the light of the sky, probably a weapon or a head ornament. Menard was motionless. Finally an Indian stepped softly out and stood beside a tree. When he began to move forward the Captain recognized Tegakwita, and he spoke his name.
Tegakwita's voice trembled, as if he knew that he was pressing the white man too far. "The grave must be opened. It will not take long." It came to Menard in a flash. The many delays, the anxious glances toward the thicket, these meant that others were coming. Something delayed them; Tegakwita must hold the Big Buffalo till they arrived.
"If we had a friend here," he was saying, quietly enough, "it may be that Tegakwita But no, of course not. I had forgotten about Danton " "Tegakwita has lost standing in the tribe for allowing Lieutenant Danton to escape. He is very bitter, We can ask nothing from him." "No, I suppose not."
"Lead the way." They walked slowly between the mounds. Menard looked carefully about, but in the uncertain light he could see no sign of a new opening in any of them. When they had passed the centre he stopped, and said quietly: "Tegakwita." The Indian turned. "Where is the grave?" "It is beyond, close to the great oak." "Ah!" They went on.
Hello, here is a runner." An Indian was loping up the path. He turned in toward the hut. "Quiet," said the priest. "It is Tegakwita." The warrior had run a long way. He was breathing deeply, and the sweat stood out on his face and caught the shine of the firelight. "My brother has been far," said Menard, rising. "The White Chief is not surprised?
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