How gloriously, with what a lonely majesty the morning wastes in that silent valley there; with its moving shadows, and breeze and sunshine, and its thousand delicious sounds mocking those desolate homes---- (_He stops suddenly, and looks earnestly into the thicket_.) This is strange, indeed. This feeling that I cannot analyze, still grows upon me. _Presentiment?_ Some dark, swift-flying thought, leaves its trace, and the cause-seeking mind, in the range of its own vision finding none, looks to the shadowy future for it. [_He passes on_. (_Two Indian Chiefs, in their war-dress, emerge from the thicket, talking in suppressed tones_.) _1st Chief_. Hoogh! Hoogh! Alaska fights to revenge his son,--we spill our blood to revenge his son, and he thinks to win gifts besides. Hugh! A brave chief he is! _2nd Chief_. Your talk is not good, Manida. They are our enemies,--we shall conquer them, we shall see their chestnut locks waving aloft, we shall dance and shout all night around them, and the eyes of the maidens shall meet ours in the merry ring, sparkling with joy, as we shout "Victory! victory! our enemies are slain,--our foot is on their necks, we have slain our enemies!" What more, Manida? Is it not enough? _1st Chief_. No. I went last night with Alaska to the camp above, to the tent of the young sachem of the lake, and he promised him presents, rich and many, for an errand that a boy might do. I asked Alaska to send me for him, and he would not. _2nd Chief_. The young white sachem was Alaska's friend, many moons ago, when Alaska was wounded and sick.--He must revenge young Siganaw, but he must keep his faith to his white friend, too. _1st Chief_. Ah, but I know where the horse is hidden and the paper. When the tomahawks flash here, and the war-cry is loudest, we will steal away. Come, and I will share the prize with you. _2nd Chief_. No, I will tell my brother chief that Manida is a treacherous friend. _1st Chief_. You cannot. It is too late. Hist! Quick, lower--lower-- [_They crouch among the trees_. (_Another Soldier emerges from the wood-path, singing_.) "_Then march to the roll of the drum, It summons the brave to the plain, Where heroes contend for the home Which perchance they may ne'er see again_." (_Pausing abruptly_.) Well, we are finely manned here! (_1st Soldier re-enters_.) _2nd Sol_. How many men do you think we have in all, upon this hill, Edward? _1st Sol_. Hist!--more than you count on, perhaps. _2nd Sol_. Why? What is the matter? Why do you look among those bushes so earnestly?