ingly
Consents to crowd his noble length of limb
Within the narrow space allotted him.

Captive he lies, and, all defenseless, hears
The brother's late return. His jealous ears
Miss no least accent in the voice of each,
Yet glean so little from their foreign speech
That, spite of passion (knowing woman's art),
A spasm of dread contracts the hero's heart.
Suppose, while thus in helpless case he lay,
The maid his place of hiding should betray!
Clutching with iron grasp his trusty gun,
Scarce breathing, he awaits the morrow's sun.
Meanwhile, she prattles of adventures gay--
Tells how a handsome stranger called that day,
Describes his splendid dress,--the arms he bore,
Such as no Blackfoot ever saw before;
But not a word her cunning lips let fall
Of love and courtship as the sum of all!

At daybreak forth again the hunter fares,
But with his artful sister first prepares
A fresh surprise. When scarcely out of sight,
She hastens to relieve her captive knight;
And while he gladly tastes the savory fare
Which presently her willing hands prepare,
Stretches his cramped limbs to the grateful sun,
And drinks the favoring smiles so hardly won,
A sudden shadow falls athwart his feet--
At last the war-like Sioux and Blackfoot meet.

Surely the boy his sister's secret guessed,
Since only kindness dwells within his breast
Toward his ancestral foe. By friendly signs,
Each comely youth the other's thought divines;
Then suddenly exclaims the dauntless Sioux,
"Listen, my friend! I must return with you
To ask and win this maiden for my wife!"
"Return with us! not if you prize your life--"
The startled Blackfoot answers. "You must know
That all our tribe regard you as a foe;
My sister's suitors are as many now
As yonder leaves that twinkle on the bough.
Should a Dakota venture such a plea,
Our jealous youth would slay him instantly!"

The youthful warrior merely smiles, and lays
His hand upon his gun, as one who says
"I can defend myself!" "Do you so prize
This thing?" demands the other in surprise.
"Set up a mark, and you shall shortly see
What sort of weapon 'tis I bear with me!"
"Take my white pony!" "No," his friend replies,
"Set up a willow wand."

The bullet flies
Straight to its mark, and cleaves the target quite,
While youth and maiden, starting in affright,
Believe some heavenly wight this deed hath done--
Doubtless the thunder's veritable son!
Convinced at last, the Blackfoot y