My own
tribe had become fewer, for the young men did not stay in our valley,
but drifted back to the West, to that nation we had come from, or went
north to the wars with the white man, or became lonely hunters in the
hills. Then from the south along the mountain crests came another
people, a squat and murderous people, who watched us from the ridges
and bided their chance."
"The Cherokees?" I asked.
"Even so. I speak of a hundred moons back, when I was yet a stripling,
with little experience in war. I saw the peril, but I could not think
that such a race could vie with the Children of the Sun. But one black
night, in the Moon of Wildfowl, the raiders descended in a torrent and
took us unprepared. What had been a happy people dwelling with full
barns and populous wigwams became in a night a desolation. Our wives
and children were slain or carried captive, and on every Cherokee belt
hung the scalps of my warriors. Some fled westwards to our nation, but
they were few that lived, and the tribe of Shalah went out like a torch
in a roaring river.
"I slew many men that night, for the gods of my fathers guided my arm.
Death I sought, but could not find it; and by and by I was alone in the
woods, with twenty scars and a heart as empty as a gourd.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354