The rosy dawn, the days of sun and cloud, the still, windy nights,
the solemn stars, the moon-blanched valley with its grazing herds,
the beautiful wild mourn of the hunting wolf and the whistle of the
stag, and always and ever the murmur of the stream--in these, and in
the solitude and loneliness of their haunts, he found his goal, his
serenity, the truth and best of remaining life for him.
37
A band of Sioux warriors rode out upon a promontory of the hills,
high above the great expanse of plain. Long, lean arms were raised
and pointed.
A chief dismounted and strode to the front of his band. His war-
bonnet trailed behind him; there were unhealed scars upon his bronze
body; his face was old, full of fine, wavy lines, stern, craggy, and
inscrutable; his eyes were dark, arrowy lightnings.
They beheld, far out and down upon the plain, a long, low, moving
object leaving a trail of smoke. It was a train on the railroad. It
came from the east and crept toward the west. The chief watched it,
and so did his warriors. No word was spoken, no sign made, no face
changed.
But what was in the mind and the heart and the soul of that great
chief?
This beast that puffed smoke and spat fire and shrieked like a devil
of an alien tribe; that split the silence as hideously as the long
track split the once smooth plain; that was made of iron and wood;
this thing of the white man's, coming from out of the distance where
the Great Spirit lifted the dawn, meant the end of the hunting-
grounds and the doom of the Indian.
Pages:
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541