e domes of the mountains so early whitened with drifts
showed now a bare, dark, sketch-like outline against the horizon and
above the garnet tint of the massed sere boughs of the forests of the
slopes. A warm sun shone. Not a summer bird was yet lingering, but here
and there a crisp red leaf winged the blue sky as gallantly as any
crested cardinal of them all. The town of Ioco was now astir, and
Tus-ka-sah noted how the softening of the air had brought out the
inhabitants from their winter houses. Children played about the
doorways; boys in canoes shot down the shimmering reaches of the river;
warriors congregated in the council-house and the half-open buildings
surrounding the "beloved square," and in its sunny sandy spaces sundry
old men were placidly engaged in the game of "roll the bullet."

It was at this group that Tus-ka-sah looked with an intent gaze and a
sort of indignant question in his manner, and presently an elderly
Cherokee, one of the cheera-taghe of the town, detached himself from it
and came toward him. Despite this show of alacrity Cheesto distinctly
winced as he contemplated the sullen and averse mien of his client or
parishioner, for the relation in which Tus-ka-sah stood toward him
partook of the characteristics of both. The professional wiseacre,
however, made shift to recover himself.

"I will tell you what you have come to tell me," the prophet said
quickly. "The spell on Amoyah does not work."

Tus-ka-sah assented surlily, gazing meanwhile at the face of the
conjurer. It was a face in which the eyes were set so close together as
to suggest a squint, although they were not crossed. He had an uncertain
and dilatory tread, the trait of one who hesitates, and decides in
doubt, and forthwith repents; being in his prophetic character an
appraiser of the probable, and the sport of the possible. He wore many
beads in strings around his neck, and big earrings of silver, heavy and
costly. His fur garments reached long and robe-like almost to his feet,
the shaggy side of the pelt outward, the weather being damp, for when it
was dry and cold it was customary to wear the fur turned inward.

The wise man had been recently unfortunate in his sorcery. The corn crop
had been cut short by reason of a lack of rain which he had promised
should fall in June. He had justified the drought, in the opinion of
most of the Indians, by feigning illness and taking to his bed; for by
these it was believed that if he had