"Is not Tachechana the daughter of a chief?" demanded a subdued voice,
in which pride struggled with anguish: "were not her brothers braves?"
"Go; the men are calling their partisan. He has no ears for a woman."
"No," replied the supplicant; "it is not the voice of Tachechana that
you hear, but this boy, speaking with the tongue of his mother. He is
the son of a chief, and his words will go up to his father's ears.
Listen to what he says. When was Mahtoree hungry and Tachechana had
not food for him? When did he go on the path of the Pawnees and find
it empty, that my mother did not weep? When did he come back with the
marks of their blows, that she did not sing? What Sioux girl has given
a brave a son like me? Look at me well, that you may know me. My eyes
are the eagle's. I look at the sun and laugh. In a little time the
Dahcotahs will follow me to the hunts and on the war-path. Why does my
father turn his eyes from the woman that gives me milk? Why has he so
soon forgotten the daughter of a mighty Sioux?"
There was a single instant, as the exulting father suffered his cold
eye to wander to the face of the laughing boy, that the stern nature
of the Teton seemed touched.
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