"It thunders," he cried. "The Rain-god is coming. If I can keep back the fire an hour, the Rain-god will come. Hides! hides! Quick, more hides! Ho! ho!" New hides were provided, and he swept forth again. The island grove was now like a vast oven. The air was stifling. The animals laid down and rolled their tongues from their mouths. But the fire in front did not advance. It seemed deadened. The river of flame forked and ran in other directions, but it was stayed in front of the grove, houses, corn-fields, and stacks, and it was the hand that had set flames that had broken its force in the road to the settlements. There were sudden dashes of rain, and the smoke turned into blackness everywhere. Another flash of lightning smote the gloom, followed by a rattling of thunder that seemed as if the spirit of the storm was driving his chariot through the air. Then it poured as though a lake was coming down. In an hour the fire was dead. The cloud parted, the slanting sun came out, revealing a prairie as black as ink. The people fled to the shelter of the houses and sheds at the approach of the rain. The animals crowded under the trees, and the birds hid in the boughs. After the rain-burst the people gathered together again, and each one asked: "Where is the Indian boy?" He was not among them. Had he perished? A red sunset flamed over the prairies and the birds filled the tree-tops with the gladness of song. It seemed to all as if the earth and sky had come back again. In the glare of the sunset-fire a horse and rider were seen slowly approaching the island grove. "It is Waubeno," said one to the other. "The horse is disabled." The people went out to meet the Indian boy. The horse was burned and blind, and staggered as he came on. And the rider! He had drawn the flames into his vitals; he had been internally burned, and was dying. He reeled from his blind horse, and fell before the people. Jasper laid his hand upon him. "Father, I have drunk the cup of fire. I have kept my promise. I am about to die. The birds are happy. They are singing the death-song of Waubeno." His flesh quivered as he lay there, and Jasper bent over him in pity. "Waubeno, do you suffer?" "The stars do not complain, white brother. The clouded sun does not complain. The winds complain, and the waters, and women and children. Waubeno does not complain." A spasm shook his frame. It passed. "White brother, go beyond the Mississippi and teach my people. You do pity them. This was once their paradise. They loved it. They struggled. Go to them with the Book of God." "Waubeno, I will go." "The sun sets over the Mississippi. 'Tis sunset there. You will go to the land of the sunset?" "Yes, Waubeno. I feel in my heart the call to go. I love and pity your people."