leaping like frightened does in wild confusion to their final plunge.
The narrow Indian trails, winding around swamps, over hills, and through
ravines, were the only paths that led to this their Great Manitou.

The drowsy sultriness of an American summer pervaded this secluded spot,
harmonizing with the unceasing roar of the Great Falls. Ever and anon,
tall, dark forms might be seen suddenly appearing from the thick foliage
of the underbrush, through which their paths with difficulty wound, and
silently their painted faces and gayly plumed heads dropped round the
big wigwam. Important questions waited the decision of their wisest
Sachems, and runners had been sent with wampum to call together distant
Chiefs, who, with braves and warriors, as became the dignity of the
wampum, answered by their presence quickly and in silence.

Near the brink of the Falls, beneath an aged pine, reclined a well-
guarded, sorrowful, but haughty band. Their fine symmetry, noble height,
and free carriage, were especially attractive. They were all young
warriors, whose white paint presented emblems of peace: their plumes
were from the beautiful white crane of the sunny forest, which
designated the southern land from whence they came.

A gleam of pride flashed across their dark faces, while their attitudes
bespoke both defiance and despair. A tall, stately looking youth
appeared to command from these few the deference due a Chief. He was
leaning against the old tree, looking for the first time on the great
sheet of falling waters, where soon himself and followers would probably
end their tortures by a welcome leap. Their noble bearing had attracted
the eye of the Sachem's daughter, the Gentle Fawn; she, with a few young
Indian girls, half hid among the whortleberry bushes growing luxuriantly
around the smaller wigwams of the camp, were dividing their attention