At the appearance of the flag and the Omaha chief, Kionk,
followed by three others, emerged from his place of shelter.
They advanced to meet the flag without apprehension, though
both parties kept their weapons ready, and their eyes bright.
Treachery is a warlike virtue among the savages, and our squatters
well understood the necessity of covering an enemy, each
with his rifle, while their comrades were engaged in conference.
How shall we report this conference? It would be impossible
to follow step by step the details, as developed in the broken
English of the one party, and the half savage Pawnee of
the other. But the high contracting parties contrived, after a
fashion, to make themselves separately understood. Our squatter
embassador had little hesitation in coming as promptly to the

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point as possible. We sum up much in little, when we report
the following: —

“'Taint a manly way of carrying on the war, catching a poor
young woman. What's the sperrit of a man to lay hands upon a
girl, onless for love and affection? And now you've got her,
what's the use of her to you? You have plenty of gals in your
own nation. What do you want with this Omaha?”

The Pawnee acknowledged that his people were by no means
wanting in specimens of the tender gender. They had enough,
Heaven knows, even if all their chiefs were of the Kionk temper.

“Well, then, let's have the gal. We'll buy her from you at
a fair vallyation. What do you say now to half a dozen tomahawks,
a dozen knifes, two little bells, a pound of fishhooks, four
pounds of beads, and a good overcoat, handsome enough for a king.”

The goods were all displayed. Kionk acknowledged that
the offer was a liberal one. But — and here he revealed the
true difficulty — the captive-girl was the subject of an oracle.
The fate of Pawnees or Omahas depended upon her life. She
was doomed to the fiery torture. In her ashes lay the future
triumph of his people over the accursed tribe of the Omaha!
There could be no trade; no price could buy the captive; no
power save her life; he would forego his hold upon her only
with his own life; and in a few days she should undergo the
torture by fire. Such was the final answer.

“May I be etarnally burned myself, ef I stand by and see her
burned; so look to it, red-skin! I'm a human, after all; and
my rifle shall talk like blazes before you take her off!”

The conference had reached this point, and Kionk had been
made to comprehend the fiercely-expressed declaration of the
representative squatter, when Missouri, arousing from her stupor,
caught a glimpse of Enemoya. The sight seemed to restore instantly
her strength and energies. With a single bound, and a
wild passionate cry, she darted suddenly away from the savage
who stood over her, and who had somewhat relaxed his vigilance
in the curiosity which he felt with regard to the conference.
She flew, rather than ran, over the space which lay between, and
Enemoya sprang forward to receive her. But before they could
meet, a blow from the fist of one of the savages felled her to the
earth.

[figure description] Page 434.[end figure description]

In a moment the work of death had begun. The hatchet of
Enemoya cleft the skull of the brutal assailant. Then rose his
war-cry — then came the fierce shout of Kionk and the rest.
Every arrow was drawn to its head. Every rifle-bead rested
with dead aim upon the tree which gave shelter to an enemy.
The charge d'affaires of the squatters, quick as lightning, tore
the white kerchief from his rifle, and dodged into cover; while
Enemoya, no longer capable of restraint, dashed forward to
gather up the beautiful damsel from the ground where she still
lay, stunned by the blow of the Indian. But he was not permitted
to reach his object. It was now Kionk's turn. He threw
himself into the path of the young chief of the Omahas, and together
grappling they came together to the earth. It was the
death grapple for one or both. In their hearts they felt mutually
the instinct of a deadly personal hatred, apart from that which
belonged to their national hostilities. Closely did they cling;
sinuously, like serpents, did they wind about each other on the
earth, rapidly rolling over, fiercely striving, without a word spoken
on either part. But one weapon could either now use, and
that was the scalp-knife which each bore in his belt. But to
get at this was not easy, since neither dared forego his grasp,
lest he should give his opponent the advantage.

Meanwhile the rest were not idle. The Pawnees, highly excited
by the death of one of their number, and seeing but two
enemies before them — never dreaming that there were no less
than six Kentuckians in ambush — darted, with terrible yells,
into the foreground. Two of them, in an instant, bit the dust;
and the rest recoiled from the unanticipated danger. The Kentuckians
now made a rush in order to extricate Enemoya, and
to brain Kionk; and the aspect of affairs was hopeful in the last
degree; when, at this very moment, one of the Pawnees darted
out of cover. He was the brother-in-law of Kionk — the sullen
chief whom he had overthrown, and whose black passions meditated
the most hateful of revenges. Before the squatters could
reach the scene of action, the murderous monster, whose purpose
was wholly unexpected, threw himself upon the crouching Missouri,
and with a single blow buried his hatchet in her brain.
With a howl of mixed scorn and exultation he had shrouded
himself in the woods, and among his comrades, a moment after.

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The wretched Enemoya beheld the horrid stroke, but, grappling
with his own assailant he had not the power to interfere.
In striving to loose himself for this purpose, he gave his enemy
the advantage. In a moment both were on their feet, and Kionk
already brandished his scalp-knife in his grasp. But the eyes
of Enemoya swam in a blind horror. He had seen the whizzing
tomahawk descend, crushing into the head of the dusky beauty
whom he so much loved. He saw no more; and the uplifted
knife of Kionk was already about to sheathe itself in his bosom,
when a rifle bullet from one of the squatters sent him reeling to
the earth in the last agonies of death. When Enemoya sunk
beside the poor damsel, her eyes were already glazed. She
knew him not. She looked on him no more. He took the scalp
of Kionk, but it gave him no consolation. He fought like a
demon — he slew many enemies,— took many scalps,— but never
felt a whit the happier. His hope was blighted — he loved the
dusky beauty of the blessed islet, much more tenderly than we
should suppose from the manner of his wooing: and he never
recovered from her loss. He moved among his people like a
shadow, and they called him the ghost only of the great warrior.

The campaign that season was indecisive between the rival
nations of the Pawnee and Omaha. Neither had succeeded in
complying with the requisitions of the oracle. The Pawnees had
forfeited their hope in failing to bring their captive to the torture
of fire. The Omahas had been equally unfortunate in being
compelled to strike the first blow. The first life taken in the
war was that of the savage Pawnee who smote Missouri with his
fist, and whom Enemoya immediately slew. But the campaign
of the ensuing winter went against the Omahas. They had lost
the soul of Enemoya; who ceased to exhibit any enterprise,
though he fought terribly when the hour came for conflict.
Meanwhile, our squatters from Kentucky were joined by others
from that daring region. Their rifles helped the Omahas for a
long time; but the latter were finally defeated. The remnant
of the nation were ready to disperse; they knew not where to
turn. The blessed island was almost the only territory remaining
in their possession. But for this there suddenly appeared a
new claimant.

“These are pleasant places, boys,” said the head man of the

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squatters, looking at the lovely region around; “it seems to me
to be good if we drive stakes and build our cabins here — here
by this quiet lake, among these beautiful meadows.— What say
you,— shall it be here? I don't want to go further, 'till it comes
to be crowded.”

“But this is the abiding place of my people, my brother; —
here is the wigwam of Enemoya, — yonder was the dwelling
which I built for the wife of my bosom, the beautiful Missouri.”

“Look you, Inimowya,” answered the white chief, “the argyment
of territory, after all, lies at the eend of my rifle. As I told
you once afore, when we first met, I could dispute with you that
pr'emption title, but I wouldn't; and I won't now; considering
that you've had a bad time of it. But what's the use of your
talking, when you see the country's got to be ours. Why, you
know we kin shoot round it every day”— again touching his
rifle. — “But that's not the argyment I want to use with you.
Your brown gal, who was a beauty for an Ingin, I'm willing to
allow, is a sperrit now in the other world. What sort of heaven
they find for the red-skins, is unbeknowing to me; but I reckon
she's living thar. Thar's no living for her hyar, you see, so
what's the use of the cabin you built. But that's not to say I
wants to drive you out. By no possible means. I like you —
all the boys like you. For a red-skin you're a gentleman, and
as you hev' no nation now, and hardly any tribe of your own, why
squat down with us, by any man's fireside you choose, and ef you
choose, you kin only set down and look on, and see how we'll take
the shine out of these Pawnee cock-a-doodles. You kin share
with us, and do as we do, with all the right nateral to a free
white man; but as for your getting this island from us, now that
we're all ready to plant stakes, it's a matter onpossible to be
argyfied except with the tongue of the rifle. Thar's no speech
that ever was invented that shall make us pull up stakes now.”

And the rifle butt came down heavily upon the earth, as the
chief of the squatters declared himself. Enemoya regarded him
with a grave indifference, and said calmly: —

“Be it so: the island is young; the country! Why should you
not have it? I need it not! neither I nor Missouri! I thank
you for what you say. But though your cabin door is wide for
my coming, I do not see Missouri beside the hearth.”

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“Oh! for that matter, as you are quite a gentleman for a red-skin,
there's many a pretty white gal that would hev you for
the axing.”

“No! I shall follow my people to the black prairies, and wait
for the voice of that bird of the Spirit, that shall summon me to
the happy valley where Missouri walks.”

“Well, as you choose, Inimowya; but let's to supper now,
and you'll sleep under my bush to-night.”

The chief silently consented. But at the dawn he was nowhere
to be seen, nor have the hunters ever heard of him since.
Meanwhile the country of the Omaha, which includes the lake
and the beautiful islet, has become the possession of the pale-faces,
but they call it still after the dusky damsel of Omaha, the
lovely and loving Missouri.

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