It was, indeed, a glorious evening for the war-chief to die. The horizon was a mass of crimson clouds, their gorgeous tints were reflected on the river; the rocky bluffs rose up like castle walls around the village, while on the opposite shore the deer were parting the foliage with their graceful heads and drinking from the low banks. We-har-ka wiped the forehead and brow of her grandfather. There was something of more than ordinary interest about the appearance of this young person: her features were regularly formed, their expression mild; her figure light and yielding as a young tree; her hair was neatly parted and gathered in small braids over her neck; her dress well calculated to display the grace of her figure; a heavy necklace of wampum[7] covered her throat and neck, and on her bosom was suspended the holy cross! Her complexion was lighter than usual for an Indian girl, owing to the confinement occasioned by the charge of her infirm relative; a subdued melancholy pervaded her features, and even the tone of her voice. There was a pause, for the warrior slept a few moments, and again his voice was heard. Death was making him mindful of the glorious achievements of his life. Again he was brandishing his tomahawk in circles round the head of his fallen foe; again he taunted his prisoner, whose life he had spared that he might enjoy his sufferings under the torment; again, with a voice as strong as in early manhood, he shouted the death-cry--it was his own, for not another sound, not even a sigh escaped him. * * * * * Gently they moved him into the wigwam. We-har-ka stood by his head. There was no loud wailing, for he had outlived almost all who were bound to him by near ties. Those who stood around heaped their most cherished possessions on his feet: the knife, the pipe, and the robe were freely and affectionately offered to the dead. We-har-ka gazed earnestly upon him: large tears fell on her bosom and on the old man's brow. Some one drew near and respectfully covered his venerable face: the drum was placed, as he requested, at his side. One of the men said, "Eagle Eye takes proud steps as he travels towards the land of souls. His heart has long been where warriors chase the buffalo on the prairies of the Great Spirit." We-har-ka drew from her belt her knife, and cut long, deep gashes on her round arms; then, not heeding the wounds,[8] she severed the braids of her glossy hair, and cutting them off with the knife, red with her own blood, she threw them at her feet. How did the holy cross find its way to the wilds of a new country? A savage, yet powerful nation, idolaters at heart and in practice, bending to the sun, the forests, and the sea--how was it that the sign of the disciple of Jesus lay glittering on the bosom of one of the women of this heathen race?