Then she led the Sun Maid away, after she had gathered up every
flower, not daring that anything beloved of her strange foster-child
should be neglected.

The watching Indians also rose and returned into the village from
that point on its outskirts where Wahneenah's wigwam stood. They spoke
little, for in each mind the conviction had become firm that the Sun
Maid was, in deed and truth, a being from the Great Beyond, safe from
every mortal hurt.

Yet still, the Man-Who-Kills fingered the edge of his tomahawk with
regret and remarked in a manner intended to show his great prowess:

"Even a mighty warrior cannot fight against the powers of the sky."

After a little, one, less credulous than his fellows, replied
boastfully:

"Before the sun shall rise and set a second time the white scalp will
hang at my belt."

Nobody answered the boast till at length a voice seemed to come out of
the ground before them, and at its first sound every brave stood still
to listen for that which was to follow. All recognized the voice, even
the strangers from the most distant settlements. It was heard in
prophecy only, and it belonged to old Katasha, the One-Who-Knows.

"No. It is not so. Long after every one of this great Pottawatomie
nation shall have passed out of sight, toward the place where the day
dies, the hair of the Sun Maid's head shall be still shining. Its gold
will have turned to snow, but generation after generation shall bow
down to it in honor. Go. The road is plain. There is blood upon it,
and some of this is yours. But the scalp of the Sun Maid is in the
keeping of the Great Spirit. It is sacred. It cannot be harmed. Go."

Then the venerable woman, who had risen from her bed upon the ground
to utter her message, returned to her repose, and the warriors filed
past her with bowed heads and great dejection of spirit. In this mood
they joined another company about the dead council fire, and in angry
resentment listened to the speech of the Black Partridge as he pleaded
with them for the last time.

"For it is the last. This day I make one more journey to the Fort, and
there I will remain until you join me. We have promised safe escort
for our white neighbors through the lands of the hostile tribes who
dare not wage war against us. The white man trusts us. He counts us
his friends. Shall we keep our promise and our honor, or shall we
become traitors to the truth?"

It was Shut-Hand who answered for his tribesmen: