The Manitowoc pilot. [volume] (Manitowoc, Wis.) 1859-1932, 1875-11-18

the smouldering fire was still sending "
thin blue wreaths of smoke into the frosty
air, and scraps of bone and buffalo meal
were strewn on the ground. She rested in
this place several days, as long as the scrap:
lasted. At night she stopped in the shell
tered valleys where the willows and cotton
woods grew thick on the banks of little
streams. She scooped out place down to
the earth, piled the snow in ramparts to
windward, spread out her buffalo robe,
kindled Pickering fire, aud lay down to
ftful slumber and dreams of warmth and
food and the aimless touch Of baby hands
With the 6rst streak of dawn she was up
and away again, climbing ever hills. cross
ing streams on floating cakes of ice, always
hungry and thirsty, aching from head to
foot, leaving a red print on the snow from
her bleeding feet-witbout guide or trail,
anc yet divinely led over those dreary, far
stretching wastes, where even the scent oi
the blood hound would have been at fault
When three weeks, as nearly as she could
estimate the time, had passed, she climbed
a steep hill one morning, saying to herself
that when she reached its top she would lie
down and rest. She was so weary of the
fight against starvation and cold, nothing
seemed worth seeking but sleep or death,
which would cure all pains. From tina,
bill top she looked down upon the gray
walls of the fort: she heard voices and
barking of dogs-saw men moving about,
and the warm smoke rising from the Chin
neys. The sight quickened her drowsy
senses. She dragged herself, on hands and
knees along the short distance, staggered
past the sentinels, opened the FIRST door she
came to, sank fainting 10 the hearssome
warmth of the fire, and we have seen how
on waking, she found her child as suddenly
as she had lost him.
The Major turned away as she looked
up at him, her story ended. lie was think
ing of things he never spoke of-his own
dear mother and her tender love, his own
dearly-loved son. Both mother and son
were dead long ago, but they came back
again as fresh as yesterday in this mother
holding up her thin hands to him, and in
this son pleading yet more strongly by his
babyish joy and content. On the other
hand was "Monseer Pierre" lie had a
right in the affair. He ment to do good
part by the child-a better one than to
leave him in barbarity and ignorance, with
no higher ambition than the scalpiug-knife
and war'dance. The major had never
broken trust. He could not now, though
all the mothers in the world were on their
knees before him. He said Sc to his wife
and he then made a hasty plan by which
Winona should be provided for till she
could be sent back to her tribe with the
first troops going to Kearney.
The women smiled and whispered to-
gether while the major was speaking, foi
they knew if he did not, that the mighty
love which had borne such strain and tria
for loves sake only was not now TO bt
made of no avail The resolute major baG
arrayed two women against himself:
Sampson surrendered to one.
Aided by Mrs. Kent, Winona was TIE
majors shadow from that time. She lay
in wait for him; if he mounted his horse
she stood at his bride; if he walked, she
followed; if he came in late, if he wen,
out early, Winona was early and late too,
always pleading, til at length "the major
snd his squaw" become q byword in the
garrison.
The major himself found no amusement
in it; for wherever he turned he saw this
woman's young, piteous face, growing
thinner and more haggard, and look oi
patient longing settling into the eyes al
} ways brimming with tears. She was for
!, hidden to enter the house, and so, on days
when so bleak and bitter was the weathe,
that not dog vas driven out into it, she
! stood for hours in the snow, kissing the
, window pane against which the chubby
brown face of Baptiste was fattened.
, 1t was after such day that the ma jol
, said "Wife, l give in. That squaw's fac'
haunts me. I'll give her the child to NOR
row night; tell her SO. How to make ou
! with parleyvous don't know"
Mrs Kent did not speak; she could not
, 1t was as if promise had been made ths
/ her own dead baby, white and soft, shoult
again sleep warm in her bosom.
The next day was one of the warn
bright days that drop sometimes into mid
winter like a special boon. The SUI
, shown out in such broad bold beams tba
t there was a molten and stir Of ifo through
the land such as thrills Us in the early day,
} of spring The snow birds flew past in
sudden furry; the long icicles hanging frcn
5 the caves grew quite thin and fell splinter
ing on the ground, the ice in the rive
parted from the banks with loud cracks
, and the swift current surged over th'
, banks; while out on the prairie-hills tn,
black earth came through the melting
, snow in streaks and patches. The Jan
| uary thaw' had begun. By evening
| clouds gathered and broke into foods o
, warm rain upon the steaming earth, ant
, there we're thunder and lightning like
! summer tempest.
5 At midnight the major carried myster
bundle Of buckskin and bea DIS and firing
3 from his bedroom 20 the kitchen, threw VI
r the wiz dow opening out upon the lttl
garden below, and called in caution
whisper, 'Winona, Winona, are yo'
e lhere?'
! YES came back from the darkness
a Winona hears
2 Take your boy, Winona-here, from