Adventure stories; Indians of North America -- Fiction; Short stories, American
"Even as the point of the spear sprang out beyond his back, he smote
me upon the head. There was a flash, as of bright light, and inside my
head I felt something give, with a snap--just like that, with a snap.
And the weight that pressed above my eyes so long was lifted, and the
band that bound my brows so tight was broken. And a great gladness
came upon me, and my heart sang with joy.
"This be death, I thought; wherefore I thought that death was very
good. And then I saw the two empty canoes, and I knew that I was not
dead, but well again. The blows of the man upon my head had made me
well. I knew that I had killed, and the taste of the blood made me
fierce, and I drove my paddle into the breast of the Yukon and urged
my canoe toward the village of the Mukumuks. The young men behind me
gave a great cry. I looked over my shoulder and saw the water foaming
white from their paddles--"
"Ay, it foamed white from our paddles," said Mutsak. "For we
remembered the command of the Otter, and of Skolka, that we behold
with our own eyes the manner of Lone Chief's death. A young man of
the Mukumuks, on his way to a salmon trap, beheld the coming of Lone
Chief, and of the five score men behind him. And the young man fled
in his canoe, straight for the village, that alarm might be given and
preparation made. But Lone Chief hurried after him, and we hurried
after Lone Chief to behold the manner of his death. Only, in the face
of the village, as the young man leaped to the shore, Lone Chief rose
up in his canoe and made a mighty cast. And the spear entered the body
of the young man above the hips, and the young man fell upon his face.
"Whereupon Lone Chief leaped up the bank war-club in hand and a great
war-cry on his lips, and dashed into the village. The first man he met
was Itwilie, chief over the Mukumuks, and him Lone Chief smote upon
the head with his war-club, so that he fell dead upon the ground. And
for fear we might not behold the manner of his death, we too, the five
score young men, leaped to the shore and followed Lone Chief into the
village. Only the Mukumuks did not understand, and thought we had come
to fight; so their bow-thongs sang and their arrows whistled among us.
Whereat we forgot our errand, and fell upon them with our spears and
clubs; and they being unprepared, there was great slaughter--"
"With my own hands I slew their shaman," proclaimed Lone Chief, his
withered face a-work with memory of that old-time day. "With my own
hands I slew him, who was a greater shaman than Skolka, our own
shaman. And each time I faced a man, I thought, 'Now cometh Death; and
each time I slew the man, and Death came not. It seemed the breath of
life was strong in my nostrils and I could not die--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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