A led horse, one that had
been long trained in the hunts, had been brought to receive his
master, with but little hope that his services would ever be needed
again in this life. With a delicacy and consideration, that proved how
much the generous qualities of the youth had touched the feelings of
his people, a bow, a lance, and a quiver, were thrown across the
animal, which it had been intended to immolate on the grave of the
young brave; a species of care that would have superseded the
necessity for the pious duty that the trapper had pledged himself to
perform.
Though Hard-Heart was sensible of the kindness of his warriors, and
believed that a chief, furnished with such appointments, might depart
with credit for the distant hunting-grounds of the Master of Life, he
seemed equally disposed to think that they might be rendered quite as
useful, in the actual state of things. His countenance lighted with
stern pleasure, as he tried the elasticity of the bow, and poised the
well-balanced spear. The glance he bestowed on the shield was more
cursory and indifferent; but the exultation with which he threw
himself on the back of his favoured war-horse was so great, as to
break through the forms of Indian reserve.
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