Let us not hear of civilized warfare! It is all the work of the spirits of evil. God did not make man to slay his brother, and the savage alone can present an excuse. The Dahcotah dreams not that it is wrong to resent an injury to the death; but the Christian knows that God has said, Vengeance is mine! CHAPTER IV. The Track-maker had added to his fame. He had taken many scalps, and the Dahcotah maidens welcomed him as a hero--as one who would no longer refuse to acknowledge the power of their charms. They asked him eagerly of the fight--whom he had killed first--but they derived but little satisfaction from his replies. They found he resisted their advances, and they left him to his gloomy thoughts. Every scene he looked upon added to his grief. Memory clung to him, recalling every word and look of Flying Shadow. But, that last look, could he ever forget it? He tried to console himself with the thoughts of his triumph. Alas! her smile was sweeter than the recollection of revenge. He had waded in the blood of his enemies; he had trampled upon the hearts of the men he hated; but he had broken the heart of the only woman he had ever loved. In the silence of the night her death-cry sounded in his ear; and he would start as if to flee from the sound. In his dreams he saw again that trustful face, that look of appeal--and then the face of stone, when she saw that she had appealed in vain. He followed the chase, but there he could not forget the battle scene. "Save me! save me!" forever whispered every forest leaf, or every flowing wave. Often did he hear her calling him, and he would stay his steps as if he hoped to meet her smile. The medicine men offered to cure his disease; but he knew that it was beyond their art, and he cared not how soon death came, nor in what form. He met the fate he sought. A war party was formed among the Dahcotahs to seek more scalps, more revenge. But the Track-maker was weary of glory. He went with the party, and never returned. Like _her_, he died in battle; but the death that she sought to avert, was a welcome messenger to him. He felt that in the grave all would be forgotten. ETA KEAZAH; OR, SULLEN FACE. * * * * * Wenona was the light of her father's wigwam--the pride of the band of Sissetons, whose village is on the shores of beautiful Lake Travers. However cheerfully the fire might burn in the dwelling of the aged chief, there was darkness, for him when she was away--and the mother's heart was always filled with anxiety, for she knew that Wenona had drawn upon her the envy of her young companions, and she feared that some one of them would cast a spell [Footnote: The Indians fear that from envy or jealousy some person may cast a fatal spell upon them to produce sickness, or even death. This superstition seems almost identical with the Obi or Obeat of the West India negroes.] upon her child, that her loveliness might be dimmed by sorrow or sickness.