The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1898-02-12
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his silly and meaningless action in throw
ing handful of earth into the air. The
last messenger was Prof. Gerald who had
been visiting the other and annihlated
camp and who told the story to the people
OF his own camper rather that OF his wife
! and showed the blood-red souveni s
which he had gathered before his depart
ure.
Like most white men, the Professor had
weakness for mt mentos Of great events.
and he had paused after the slaughter to
take ghost shirt here and bracelet there.
These things he displayed in the camp to
which Starlight had brought him. 1t had
been iatigung day to the Professor and
he sought the shelter of his tepee early,
carrying his bundle of souvenirs with him
He tossed them into a nook, and, forgetting
the bloody excitement of the day, turned
over into well ordered slumber He was
among friends
The fire died to a sulen red glow be-
fore the flap of the tspee shuddered under
the hand of another person. Then the
cloth Was pulled back ard q form was
projected through the opening. 1t was
the form OF woman of Startling, who
lad been communing with the head men
of the band-Starlight, the sweet-faced
lecturer who had taught thousands aud
hundreds Of thousands of the Indian race
Starlight noiseles-ly entered the tepee
which was her own temporary home. How
kindly was the desire to refrain from wax
ing her tired husband She approached
the little buudled bed Of blankets and
raised the cover to nestle beside him
when that dark and piercing eye fell upon
that strange packet. She was curious ana
clept over to it, ard drawing it from the
shadow, brought it into the light Of the
dying fire. Strangely enough, she had not
seen that package of souvenirs before. She
opened the bag, for she had the curiosity
OF woman, even although She was an
educated Sioux. She shook it, and from
it dropped Il fabric thick with the blood
OF the man who had worn it, That was q
ghost shirt She gasped and laid the
package upon the ground and stared at
that shirt A man If her race had worn
it She looked again at the bundle, and
investigated it with her hands. 4 little
moccasin, RI with the blood of an Indian
babe, creased under the nervous clutch OF
her tiuseIs, and long bladcd Indian
knife, crinlsOued by tie life current of its
former Indian owner, offered, its haft.
That blood was the blood of an Indian
shed by a white man. Her eyes flashed
the fire OF the vengeance Of the Sioux.
She seized the knife, the damp blood OF
the haft mOistening her hand az she did So.
An Indians blood shed by white man!
Did not this cry for vengeance upon the
race? She looked through the half gloom
and saw white man lying asleep before
her. 1t was her husband. The knife in
her hand, with cry of rage she leaped to-
ward him.
The white race never learned the secret
of Prof Gerrald's murder or of his wites
disappearance. The dead body OF the
white man, mutilated by the countless
chopping blows OF murderous knife, was
found when the snow melted, but Star
light, teacher of goodness ard gentleness
The Indian who beat her to death up in
the Dakotas last year because she was too