countenance of the Indian, a milder expression assumed its place, and,
in a gentle tone, he said--

"Peéna shall hear. She is like a stone which, when spoken to, repeats
not what is said, and not like a brook that sings an idle song. My
words shall enter her ears, but they will not descend to her tongue.
Listen! the Manitou has troubled my thoughts, and sent a bird to tell
me, that the hands of the Long Beard are red with the blood of my
brothers."

"It was a lying bird," she exclaimed vehemently; "it was an owl that
hooted untruth from the dark. When lifted the Long Beard a hatchet
against my tribe?"

"The voice was as the voice of the waterfall," he continued. "It spoke
indistinctly, and I understood but half."

"Why should not Ohquamehud talk with the Long Beard? The words of each
shall be sweet to the other, and they will learn to have one heart."

"It is well," said the Indian, "Peéna is a wise woman, and Ohquamehud
will speak with the white man."

It needed only the suggestion of the squaw to carry into effect a
resolution already more than half adopted.

The Indian rose, and proceeding to the river, which was but a dozen
rods distant from the hut, unloosed a canoe, and directing its course
up the stream, was lost, in a few moments, from her view.