Little did the beautiful damsel Missouri fancy, as she sat
singing that evening by the shore of the quiet lake, while the
infant child of her sister, Tanewahakila, was rocking in a case
of wicker work from the boughs of an outspreading tree, that
danger hung about her footsteps. She sung, in the gladness of
a young warm heart, scarcely knowing what she sang, and
musing, in delicious reveries, upon the spring season, which it is
so pleasant to think of when one is lonely in cold weather, and
which was to bring back Enemoya to her arms, a triumphant
warrior. Alas! what a happy dream the Fates are about to
mock with their cruel performances. What a lovely picture of
peace and felicity is about to be blackened with the thunderbolt
and storm!

While Missouri sang, or mused, lost in her sweet reveries, the
hand of the fierce Pawnee chief, Kionk, was laid upon her shoulder.
Before she could turn to see who was the rude assailant,
his shawl had been wound about her mouth, shutting in her
cries. In another moment she was lifted in his powerful arms
and borne into the thickets. The infant was left swinging in his
basket rocker from the tree!

The lightfooted Enemoya, meanwhile, sped with all the impetuous
diligence of a lover toward the precious little islet, so
full of treasure for his heart. Pursuing a direct course, he was
not long in consummating his journey, and at the close of a fine

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day in November we find him once more on the borders of the
little lake, and looking across to the happy haven which he
sought. He paused for an instant only to take from the bough
from which it depended the clear yellow gourd, such as was
everywhere placed conveniently for the wayfarer, and scooped
up a sweet draught from the flowing waters. Then he sought
out a little canoe,— one of many which lay along the shore,—
and paddled out into the lake, making his way toward the well-remembered
headlands, where Missouri was wont to play with
the children of her sister, Tanewahakila, the wife of his cousin,
the grim warrior of Ouanawega-poree. It somewhat surprised
Enemoya that he seemed to be unseen by the villagers, of whom
he himself beheld none; and it was with a feeling of inquietude
that he looked vainly to the headlands he was approaching for
some signs of Missouri herself.—But, when he reached the island,
and his little boat shot up along the si0lvery beach, he began to
tremble with a strange fear at the deep and utter silence which
prevailed everywhere. He pushed rapidly for the lodge of Tanewahakila,
but it was silent and untenanted. The fire had gone
out upon the hearth. He was confounded, and hurried off to
the village. Here he found the women and children gathered
within the picketed enclosure, and, from a score of tongues, he
soon learned the disaster. Missouri had disappeared. She had
been seen borne upon strong Pawnee shoulders to the boat at
the upper end of the island, and, before the alarm could be given,
she had been carried safely to the opposite side. Not knowing
how many of the subtle Pawnees were about, the old and decrepit
warriors of the village had all set off on the route said to
be taken by the enemy. As yet, there was no report of the
result. But what report, or what result, could be anticipated —
unless that of disappointment — from a pursuit against young and
vigorous foes, undertaken by the superannuated? Poor Enemoya
listened with the saddest feeling of hopelessness and desolation.
“One stupid moment motionless he stood;” then, having
heard all which the women had to tell, he darted off in pursuit,
resolved to perish or rescue his dusky beauty from the talons of
her cruel ravishers!

While Enemoya was thus, with all his soul and strength,
urging the pursuit, Kionk, with his captive and his companions,

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was equally earnest in pressing his retreat. But, to make this
safe, he was compelled to make it circuitous. He had to fetch
a wide compass, as before, to escape the scouts and war parties
of the Omahas. Though indefatigable, therefore, in the prosecution
of his journey, Kionk made little direct headway. But
he was in no hurry. He could afford to lose time now that he
had his captive. It was only required that he should keep his
trophy. To do this needed every precaution. He knew that
he would be pursued. He gave sufficient credit to his enemies
to assume that they would not give slumber to their eyelids, nor
rest to their feet, in the effort to rescue his prey, and to revenge
the indignity which they had suffered. He also took for granted
that they would bring to the work an ingenuity and skill, a
sagacity and intelligence, very nearly if not equal to his own.
He must be heedful, therefore, to obliterate all traces of his
progress; to wind about and double upon his own tracks; to
take to the streams and water-courses whenever this was possible,
and to baffle by superior arts those of his pursuers. That
there would be much energy in the pursuit, whatever might
be its sagacity, he did not apprehend; for he knew that the
guardians of the village were mostly superannuated, and a cold
scent is usually fatal to enterprise. He knew that they would
fight, perhaps as well as ever, upon their own ground, and in
defence; but for a war of invasion, or one which involved the
necessity of prompt decision and rapid action, old men are
nearly useless. He was therefore cool, taking his leisure, but
playing fox-work admirably, and omitting no precaution. He
contrived to throw out the veterans after a brief interval, and to
shake himself free of their attentions. But he did not dream
of that fierce wolf-dog upon the scent — the young, strong, and
audaciously-brave chief, Enemoya.