The Little Red Foot

by Robert W. Chambers

  CHAPTER XXIX

  THE WOOD OF BRAKABEEN

  It was the 12th day of August when we came again to the Wood ofBrakabeen,--we four young warriors of the clan of the Little Red Foot.

  We were ragged and bruised and weary, and starving; but the fierce rageburning in our breasts gave to each a strength and purpose that nervedour briar-torn and battered bodies to effort inexhaustible.

  Under scattered and furtive shots from German muskets we had retreatedthrough the forest with our dead prophetess, until night ended pursuitby the chasseurs, and we ourselves had lost our direction.

  All the next day we travelled southwest with our dead. On the tenth daywe came out on Otsego Lake, near to Croghan's new house.

  Where he had cleared the bush and where Indian grass was growing as tallas a man's head, we made a deep grave. And here we four clansmen buriedthe Little Maid of Askalege; and sodded the mound with wild grasseswhere strawberries grew, and blue asters and plumes of golden-rod.

  A Canada whitethroat called sweetly, sadly, from the forest in thesunset glow. We made for the grave a white cross of silver birch. Weplaced parched corn and a cup of water at the foot of the cross; and herbow and scarlet arrows against her needs where deer, God willing, shouldbe plenty. And near these we set her little moccasins lest in thatunknown land her tender feet should suffer on the trail.

  In the morning we made a fire of ozier, sweet-birch, cherry wood, andsamphire.

  When the aromatic smoke blew over us I rose and spoke. After I hadfinished, the others in turn rose and spoke their mind, saying verysimply what was in their hearts concerning their little prophetess, whohad died wearing a little red foot painted on her body.

  So we left her at rest under the wild flowers and Indian grass, near toCroghan's empty house, with a vast wilderness around to guard thesanctuary, and the sad whitethroats to mourn her.

  * * * * *

  And now, fierce and starved and ragged, we came once more to the Wood ofBrakabeen. And heard McDonald's guns in the valley and his pibroch onthe hills.

  The afternoon was still and hot, the deep blue sky cloudless. OverVrooman's Land a brown smoke hung; more smoke was rising above Clyberg;more rolled up beyond the swampy ground near the Flockey.

  From the edge of Brakabeen Wood, looking out over the valley, we couldhear firing in the direction of Stone House, more musketry toward FoxCreek.

  "McDonald is in Schoharie," I said to Tahioni. "There will be many deadhere, women and children and the grey-haired. Are my brothers of theLittle Red Foot too weary to strike?"

  The young Oneida warrior laughed. I looked at my ragged comrades wherethey crouched in their frightful paint, listening excitedly to thedistant firing, and I saw their lean cheeks twitching and their nostrilsa-flare as they scented the distant fighting.

  The wild screaming of the pibroch, too, seemed to madden them; and itenraged me, also, because I saw that Sir John's Highlanders were herewith McDonald's fantastic crew and had come to slaughter us all withtheir dirks and broad-swords as they had threatened before Sir John fledNorth.

  We turned to the left and I led my Oneidas in a file through the fernyglades of Brakabeen Wood, and amid still places where clear streams randeep in greenest moss; where tall lilies nodded their yellow Chinesecaps in the flowery swale; where, in the demi-light of forest aisles,nothing grew save the great trees bedded there since the dawn of time,which sprung their vast arches high above us to support their glowingtapestry of leaves.

  It was mid-afternoon when, smelling hot smoke, we came near the woods bythe river; and saw, close to us, a barn afire, and three men carryingguns, running hither and thither in a hay field and setting every stackaflame with their torches.

  One o' the fellows was a drummer in the green uniform of Butler'sRangers, and his drum was slung on his back. And I knew him. He wasMichael Reed of Fonda's Bush, and cousin to Nick Stoner.

  And then, to my astonishment and rage, I saw Dries Bowman in hisfarmer's clothes; and the other man was a huge German--one of theirchasseurs, who wore a stiff pig-tail that was greased, and a blackmustache, and waist-high spatter-dashes--a very barbarian in red andblue and green; and grunting and puffing as he ran about in the hotsunshine to set the hay-cocks afire with his torch.

  I remember giving no command; we sprang out of the woods, trailing ourrifles in our left hands; and Bowman fired at me and, missing, startedto run; but I got him by his collar and knocked him over with mygun-butt.

  The Hessian chasseur instantly drew up and fired in our direction; andTahioni shot him dead in his tracks, where he fell heavily on his backand lay in the grass with limbs outspread.

  "You may take his scalp! I care not!" shouted I, watching my Oneidas,who had got at Micky Reed and were striving to take him alive as I hadordered.

  But Reed had a big dragoon's pistol in his belt and would have used ithad not Kwiyeh killed him swiftly with his hatchet.

  But I would not permit them to take Reed's scalp, and bade them despoilthe body quickly and bring the leather cross-belts and girdle to me.

  Hanatoh ran up and caught Dries Bowman by the collar; and we jerked himto his feet and dragged and hustled him into the woods. And heredespoiled him, pulling from his pockets a Royal Protection and a bundleof papers, which revealed him as a spy sent down to preach treason inSchoharie and carry what men he might corrupt as recruits to McDonaldand Sir John.

  "That's enough to hang him!" I said sharply to Tahioni. "Link me upthose drummer's cross-belts!"

  "What--what do you mean, John Drogue!" stammered the wretch. "Would youmurder an old neighbour?"

  "That same old neighbour would have murdered me at Howell's house. Andnow is come disguised in civilian clothing to Schoharie with a spy'scommission, to raise the district in arms against us."

  "My God!" he shrieked, as Tahioni flung the leather halter about hisneck, "is it a crime if honest men stand by their King?"

  "Not when they stand out in plain day and wear a red coat or a green,"said I, flinging the leather halter over the oak tree's limb.

  Hanatoh swiftly pinioned his arms and tied his wrists; I tossed thehalter's end to Kwiyeh. Tahioni also took hold of it.

  "Hoist that spy!" I said coldly. And in a second more his feet werekicking some half dozen inches above the ground.

  My Oneidas fastened the halter to a stout bush; I was shaking all overand felt sick and dizzy to hear him raling and choking in the leathernoose which was too stiff for the ghastly business.

  But at that instant Tahioni shouted a shrill warning; I looked over myshoulder and saw a great number of soldiers wearing red patches on theirhats, running across the burning hayfield to surround us.

  Yet it needed better men than McDonald's to take me and my Oneidas inBrakabeen Wood. We turned and plunged into the bush, leaving thewretched spy[40] hanging to the oak, his convulsed body now spinningdizzily round and round above the ground.

  [Footnote 40: The historian, J. R. Simms, says that Benjamin De Luysnesand his party strung up Dries Bowman, and then cut him down and let himgo with a warning. Simms also gives a different date to this affair. Atall events, it seems that Bowman was cut down in time to save his life.Simms, by the way, spells De Luysnes' name De Line. Campbell mentionsCaptain Stephen Watts as Major Stephen Watson. We all commit error.]

  Looking back as I ran, I soon saw that the men who were chasing us hadlittle stomach for a pursuit which must presently lead to bush-fighting.They shouted and halooed, but lagged as they arrived at the denserwoods; and they seemed to have no officers to encourage them, or if theyindeed possessed any I saw none.

  Tahioni came fiercely to me, where I had halted, to watch the red-patchsoldiers, saying that we had now been out thirteen days and had takenbut three scalps. He said that to hang a man was not a proper vengeanceto atone the death of Thiohero; and wanted to know why my prisonersshould not be delivered to him and his Oneida comrades, who knew how topunish their enemies.

  Which speech so
angered me that I had a mind to take him by the throat.Only the sudden memory of our Red Foot clan-ship, and of Thiohero,deterred me. Also, that was no way to treat any Indian; and to lose myself-control was to lose the Oneidas' respect and my authority overthem.

  "My brother, Tahioni," said I coldly, "should not forget that he is my_younger_ brother.

  "If Tahioni were older, and possessed of more wisdom and experience, hewould know that unless a chief asks opinions none should be offered."

  The youth's eyes flashed at me and he stiffened under a rebuke that ishard for any Iroquois to swallow.

  "My younger brother," said I, "ought to know that I am not like anofficer of Guy Johnson's Indian Department, who delivers prisoners tothe Mohawks. I deliver no prisoner to any Indian. I obey my orders, andexpect my Indians to obey mine. They are free always to take Indianscalps. The scalps of white men they take only if permitted by me."

  Tahioni hung his head, the Screech-owl and the Water-snake noddedemphatic assent.

  "Yonder," said I, "are the red-patch soldiers. They are Tory maraudersand outlaws. If you can ambush and cut off any of them, do so. And Icare not if you scalp them, either. But if any are taken I shall notdeliver them to any Oneida fire. No prisoner of this flying scout shallburn."

  The Water-snake twitched my sleeve timidly.

  "Hahyion," he said, "we obey. But an Iroquois prefers the fire andtorment to the noose. Because he can sing his death songs and laugh athis enemies through the flames. But what man can sing or boast when arope chokes his speech in his throat?"

  I scarcely heeded him, for I was watching the red-patch soldiers, whonow were leaving the woods and crossing the hayfield, which still wassmoking where the fire made velvet-black patches in the dry grass.

  The barn had fallen in and was only a great heap of glowing coals, overwhich a pale flame played in the late afternoon sunshine.

  Listening and looking after the red-patches, I heard very distinctly thesound of guns in the direction of Stone House.

  Now, while it was none of my business to hang on McDonald's flanks forprisoners and scalps, it _was_ my business to observe him and what hemight be about in Schoharie; and to carry this news to Saratoga by wayof Johnstown, along with my budget concerning Stanwix and St. Leger.

  Besides, Stone House lay on my way. So I signalled my Indians andstarted west. And it was not very long before we came upon two Schohariemilitia-men whom I knew, Jacob Enders and George Warner, who took to atree when they discovered my Oneidas in their paint, but came out when Icalled them by name, and gave an account that they were hunting anotorious Tory,--a renegade and late officer in the SchoharieRegiment,--a certain George Mann, a captain, who would have carried hisentire company to McDonald, but was surprised in his villainy and hadfled to the woods near Fox Creek.

  I told them that we had not seen this fellow, and asked for news; andWarner showed me a scalp which he said he took an hour ago fromOgeyonda, after shooting that treacherous savage at the Flockey.

  He gave it to Tahioni, which pleased the Oneida mightily and contentedme; for I hate to see any white man take a scalp, though Tim Murphy andDave Elerson took them as coolly as they took any other peltry.

  Warner said that McDonald was up the valley, murdering and burning hisway westward; that cavalry from Albany had just arrived, had raidedBrick House and taken prisoner a lot of red-patch militia, forced themto tear up their Royal Protections, tied up the most obnoxious, andkicked out the remainder with a warning.

  He said, further, that Adam Crysler and Joseph Brown, of Clyberg, weregreat villains and had joined McDonald with Billy Zimmer and others; andthat McDonald had a motley army, full of kilted Highlanders, chasseurs,red-patches, Indians, and painted Tories; and that the cavalry fromAlbany were marching to meet them, reinforced by Schohariemounted-militia under Colonel Harper.

  And now, even as Warner was still speaking, we heard the trumpet of thecavalry on the river road below; and, running out to the forest's edge,we saw the Albany Riders marching up the river,--two hundred horsemen inbright new helmets and uniforms, finely horsed, their naked sabers allglittering in the sun, and their trumpeter trotting ahead on a handsomewhite charger.

  The horses, four abreast, were at a fast walk; flankers galloped aheadon either wing. And, as we hurried down to the road, an officer I knew,Lieutenant Wirt, came spurring forward to meet and question us, followedby two troopers,--one named Rose and the other was Jake Van Dyck, whom Ialso recognized.

  "Jack Drogue, by all the gods of war!" cried the handsome lieutenant, asI saluted and spoke to him by name.

  "Dave Wirt!" I exclaimed, offering my hand, which he grasped, leaningwide from his saddle.

  He turned his mount toward the road again, and I and my Oneidas walkedalong beside him.

  "Are those your tame panthers?" he demanded, pointing toward my Oneidaswith his sword. "If they are, then we should have agreeable work forthem and for you, Jack Drogue. For Vrooman and his men are in StoneHouse and the red-patches fire on them whenever they show a head; andour cavalry are like to strike McDonald at any moment now. We caught twoof his damned spies----"

  At that instant, far down the road I saw a woman; and even at thatdistance I recognized her.

  "Yonder walks a bad citizen," said I sharply. "That is Madame Staats!"

  We had now arrived beside the moving column of riders; and, as I spoke,a dozen cavalrymen shouted: "Here comes Rya's Pup!"

  A captain of cavalry who spoke English with a French accent shouted tothe Pup and beckoned her; but she turned and ran the other way.

  Immediately two troopers spurred after her and caught her as she wasfording the river; and each seized her by a hand, turned their horses,and trotted back to us with their prisoner, amid shouts of laughter.

  Rya's Pup, breathless from her enforced run, fairly spat at us in herfury, cursing and threatening and holding her panting flanks in turn.

  "You dirty rebel dogs!" she screamed, "wait till McDonald catches you!Ah--there'll be blood enow for you all to wade in as I waded in theriver yonder, when your filthy cavalry headed me!"

  Wirt tried to question her, but she mocked us all, boasted that McDonaldhad a huge army at the Flockey, and that he was now on his way to StoneHouse to destroy us all.

  "Turn that slut loose!" said the Captain sharply.

  So we let go the Pup, and she turned and legged it, yelling her scornand fury as she ran; and we saw her go floundering and splashing acrossthe river, doubtless to carry news of us to McDonald.

  And it contented us that she so do, because now we came upon StoneHouse, where the small garrison under a Lieutenant Wallace had venturedout and were a-digging of a ditch and piling fence rails across the roadto stop McDonald's riders in a charge.

  Here, also, were Harper's mounted militia, sitting their saddles, poorlyarmed with militia fire-locks.

  But we had a respectable force and were ashamed to await the outlawsbehind ditch and rail; so we marched on through the gathering dusk to ahouse about two miles further, where a dozen strangely painted horsemengalloped away as we approached.

  A yell of rage at sight of those blue-eyed Indians arose from ourriders. Our trumpet sounded; the cavalry broke into a gallop.

  It was now twilight.

  I begged some mounted militia-men to take me and my Oneidas up behindthem; and they were obliging enough to do so; and we jogged away intothe rosy dusk of an August evening.

  Almost immediately I saw the Flockey ahead, and Adam Crysler's house onthe bank; and on the lawn in front of it I saw McDonald's grotesquelegion drawn up in line of battle.

  As I came up our cavalry was forming to charge; Lieutenant Wirt had justturned in his saddle to speak to me, when one of the outlaws ran out tothe edge of the lawn and called across the road to Wirt that he shouldnever live to marry Angelica Vrooman,[41] but would die a dog's death ashe deserved.

  [Footnote 41: Angelica Vrooman sewed the winding sheet for LieutenantWirt's body.]

  As the cavalry charg
ed, Wirt rode directly at this man, who coolly shothim out of his saddle.

  I saw and recognized the outlaw, who was a Tory named Shafer.

  As Wirt fell to the grass, stone dead, his horse knocked down Shafer.The Tory got up, streaming with blood but not badly hurt, and, clubbinghis piece, attempted to dash out Wirt's dead brains; but Trooper Roseswung his horse violently against Shafer, sabred him, and, in turn, fellfrom his own saddle, fatally wounded.

  Another trooper dismounted to pick up poor Rose, who was in a bad way,but one of McDonald's painted Tories fired on them and both fell.

  I fired at this man and wounded him, and Tahioni chased him, caught him,and slew him by the fence.

  Then, above the turmoil of horses and gun-shots, the Oneida's terrificscalp-yell rang out in the deepening dusk; and at that dread panther-crya panic seemed to seize McDonald's men, for their grotesque riderssuddenly whirled their horses and stampeded ventre-a-terre, ridingwestward like damned men; and I saw their Highlanders and Chasseurs andrenegade Greens break and scatter into the forest on every side, meltingaway into the night before our eyes.

  Into the brush leaped my Oneidas; their war-yells awoke the shudderingechoes of Brakabeen Wood. I saw a chasseur leap a rail fence, stumble,and fall with the Screech-owl on top of him. Again the awful Oneidascalp-yelp rang out under the first dim stars.

  * * * * *

  The cavalry returned and camped at Stone House that night. They broughtin their dead by torch-light; and I saw Wirt's body borne on astretcher, and the corpse of Trooper Rose, and others.

  One by one my Oneidas returned like blood-slaked and weary hounds. Allhad taken scalps, and sat late at our fire to hoop and stretch them, andneatly plait the miserable dead hair that hung all draggled from thepitiful shreds of skin.

  At a cavalry watch-fire near to ours were also some people Iknew--Mayfield men of a scout of six, just come in; and I went over totheir fire and greeted them and questioned them concerning news fromhome.

  Truman Christie was their lieutenant; Sol and Seely Woodworth, the twoReynolds, and Billy Dunham composed the scout; and all were inrifle-dress and keen to try their rifles on McDonald, but were arrivedtoo late, and feared now that the outlaws were on their way to Canada.

  Christie told me that the alarm in Johnstown and at Mayfield was great;that hostile Indians had been seen near Tribes Hill, and had killed afarmer there; that some people were leaving Caughnawaga and moving theirhousehold goods down the river to Schenectady.

  "By God," says he, "and I don't blame 'em, John Drogue! No! For a Mohawkwar party is like to strike Caughnawaga at any hour; and why foolishfolk, like old Douw Fonda, remain there is beyond my comprehension."

  "Douw Fonda!" said I, astonished. "Why, he is gone to Albany."

  "He came back a week ago," says Christie. "They tell me that the youngPatroon tried to dissuade the old gentleman from going, but could donothing with him--Mr. Fonda being childish and obstinate--and so he hadhis way and summoned his coach and his three niggers and drove in stateup the river to Caughnawaga. We passed that way on scout, and I saw theold gentleman two days ago sitting on his porch with his gold-headedwalking stick and his book, and dozing there in the sun; and theyellow-haired girl knitting at his feet----"

  "What!"

  He looked at me, startled by my vehemence.

  "Sir," said he, "did I say aught to offend you?"

  "Good God, no. You say that the--the yellow-haired girl, Penelope Grant,is at Caughnawaga with Douw Fonda!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Did you see her?"

  "I did; and spoke with her."

  "What did she say?" I asked unsteadily.

  "She said that Mr. Fonda had sent a negro servant to Johnstown to fetchher, because, having returned to Caughnawaga, he needed her."

  "I think Mr. Fonda's three sons and their families must all be mad topermit the old gentleman to come to Caughnawaga in such perilous timesas these!" I said sharply.

  "And so do I think likewise," rejoined Christie. "Let them think and saywhat they like, but, Mr. Drogue, I am an old Indian fighter and haveserved under Colonel Claus and Sir William Johnson. I know the Iroquois;I know their ways and wiles and craft and subtle designs; and I know howthey think, and what they are most likely to do.

  "And I say to you very solemnly, Mr. Drogue, that were I Joseph Brant Iwould strike Caughnawaga before snow flies. And, sir, under God, it ismy honest belief that he will do exactly that very thing. And it will bea sorry business for the Valley when he does so!"

  It was a dreadful thing for me to hear this veteran affirm what I myselfalready feared.

  But I had never dreamed that the aged Douw Fonda would return toCaughnawaga, or that his sons would permit the obstinate, helpless, andchildish old gentleman to so have his say and way in times like these.

  Nor did I dream that Penelope would go to him again. I knew, of course,that she would surely go if he asked for her; but thought he had toocompletely forgotten her--as the Patroon wrote--and that hischildishness and feeble memory no longer retained any remembrance of theyoung girl he had loved and had offered to adopt and to make hislegatee.

  The news that Captain Christie brought was truly dismal news for me andmost alarming.

  What on earth I could do about it I had no idea. Penelope, the soul ofloyalty, believed that her duty lay with Mr. Fonda, and that, if heasked for her, she must go and care for him, who had been to her afather when she was poor, shelterless, and alone.

  I realized that no argument, no plea of mine could move her to abandonhim now. And what logic could I employ to arouse this childish andobstinate old gentleman to any apprehension of his own peril or hers?

  To think of it madded me, because Mr. Fonda had three wealthy sonsliving near him, who could care for him properly with their ample meansand all their servants and slaves. And why in God's name Captain JohnFonda, Major Jelles Fonda, or Major Adam Fonda did not take some meansof moving themselves and their families into the Queens Fort, or, betterstill, into Albany, I can not comprehend.

  But it was a fact, as Christie related to me, that scarce a soul hadfled from Caughnawaga. All the landed gentry remained; all people ofhigh or low degree were still there--folk like the Veeders, Sammons,Romeyns, Hansens, Yates, Putmans, Stevens, Fishers, Gaults.

  That night my dreams were horrible: I seemed to see Dries Bowman's bodyspinning in the sunshine, whilst he darted his swollen tongue at me likea snake. And always I seemed all wet with blood and could not dry myselfor escape the convulsed embrace of the Little Maid of Askalege.

  Moaning, waking with a cry on my lips to gaze on the red embers of ourfire and see my Indians stir under their blankets and open slitted eyesat me--or to lie exhausted in body and all trembling in my thoughts,while the slow, dark hours dragged to the dead march beating in myheart--thus passed the night at Stone House, full of visions of thedead.

  Long ere the cavalry trumpet pealed and the tired troopers awakenedafter near fifty miles of riding the day before, I had dragged my wearyIndians from their sleep; and almost immediately we were on our way,eating a pinch of salted corn from the palms of our hands as we movedforward. For, after a brief ceremony in the Wood of Brakabeen, I meantto make Johnstown without a halt. My mind was full of anxiety forCaughnawaga, and for her who had promised herself to me when again Ishould come to seek her.

  But first we must halt in the Wood of Brakabeen to fulfill in ceremonythat office due to the memory of a brave and faithful Oneidawarrior--our little Maid of Askalege.

  It was not yet dawn, and the glades of Brakabeen Wood were dark andstill; and on the ferns and grasses rested myriads of fire-flies, allpulsating with faint phosphorescence.

  I thought of Thiohero as I had beheld her in this glade, swaying on herslender feet amid a dizzy whirl of fire-flies.

  Tahioni had gathered a dry faggot; Kwiyeh carried a bundle ofcherry-birch, samphire, and witch-hopple. The Water-snake laid the fire.

  All seated themselves;
I struck flint, blew the tinder to a coal, andlighted a silver birch-shred.

  The scented smoke mounted straight up through the trees; I rose insilence; and when the first burning stick fell into soft white ashes, Itook a few flakes in my palm and rubbed them across my forehead. Then Ispoke, facing the locked gates of morning in the dark:

  "Now--now I hear your voice coming to us through the forest in thenight.

  "Now our hearts are heavy, little sister. The gates of morning are stilllocked; the forest is still; everywhere there is thick darkness.

  "_Thiohero, listen!_

  "Now we Oneidas are depressed in our minds. You were a prophetess. Youforetold events. You were a warrior. We were your clansmen of the LittleRed Foot. You were a sorceress. Empty moccasins danced when you touchedthe witch-drum. Now, in white plumes, you have mounted to the stars likemorning mist.

  "_Oyaneh! Continue to listen._

  "Our lodge is empty without you. Our fire is lonely without you. Ourhearts are desolate, O Thiohero Oyaneh!

  "_Little Sister, continue to listen!_

  "We have heard your voice at this hour coming to us through the Wood ofBrakabeen. It comes in darkness like light when the gates of morningopen.

  "Thiohero Oyaneh, virgin warrior of the People of the Rock, we are cometo the Wood of Brakabeen to greet and thank you.

  "We give you gratitude and love. You were a warrior and wore the LittleRed Foot. You struck your enemies where you found them. They are deadand without scalps, your enemies. The Canienga howl. Your war-axe sticksin their heads. The Hessians are swine. Your scarlet arrows turn theminto porcupines. The green-coats flee and your bullets burn theirbowels.

  "_O my little sister, listen now!_

  "Our trail is very lonely without you. We are dejected. We move likeold men and sick. We need your wisdom. We are less wise than thoselittlest ones still strapped to the cradle board.

  "_Thiohero!_

  "We have placed food and a cup of water for you lest you hunger andthirst.

  "We have laid a bow and scarlet arrows near you so that you shall huntwhen you wish.

  "We have given you moccasins so that the strange, bright trail shall nothurt your feet.

  "We have placed paint for you so that Tharon shall know you by yourclan. And we have made for your grave a cross of silver-birch, so thatour white Lord Christ shall meet you and take you by the hand in a landso new and strange.

  "_Oyaneh!_

  "We have said what is in our hearts and minds. We think that is all wehave to say. We turn our eyes to the morning. When the gates open weshall depart."

  As I ended, the three Oneidas rose and faced the east in silence. Allthe sky had become golden. Minute after minute passed. Suddenly ablinding lance of light pierced the Wood of Brakabeen.

  "Haih!" they exclaimed softly. "Nai Thiohero Oyaneh!"

  Tahioni covered the fire. The Screech-owl marked us all with a coalstill warm.

  Then, in silence, I led my people from the misty Wood of Brakabeen.