Beadle's New York Dime Library (no. 1037) (1900 06)

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Copryricut, 1879, py Brapte & ADAMS. ENTERED aS SeconD CLAss Matrer at THE New York, N, Y., Post Orrice. ES June, 1900, M. J. FVERS & CO., Publishers, (JAMES SULLIVAN, PROPRIETOR), No 1037 Published Every r 4 Month. 379 Pearl Street, New York. Thayendanegea, THE SCOURGE; Or, The War-Eagle of the Mohawks. BY NED BUNTLINE. CHAPTER I. “ MotHer, I am almost a warrior now! I am more fleet of foot than any runner in the tribe! My arrow never misses its mark, and when Ohanwanho lets me shoot his rifle, my aim is yot more sure than his! I am strong, I will soon put ray foot upon the war-path, and then I will rove I am brave! Now, hide from me no east the place of my birth, or the name of my father! It is time that I should know it!— time that I should know why we loiter here, away from the tribe of which you say I should be chief! Thereis hot, strong blood in my veins—a big heart beats in my breast —I am an eagle, and must not be chained, or [I wiil die, beating my- self with my own wings!” These words were uttered by an In- dian youth, whose age might be fifteen or sixteen—it were hard to determine it, at a glance, for his form was yet slender, though ev- ery muscle ‘was well developed, and it in its grace, beightened by his aeanty but — pic- mE costume would have form- ed a study for the first sculptor in the world. His fea- tures were noble his eye large and flashing, and his thin nostrils dilat- ed, and his veins seemed to. swell and darken as he spoke, She -whom he addressed looked young to be the mother of such a boy—yet the like- ness of the two could not be mistak- ap —? Segete- ormed, clad, in- ey like an In- dian queen, she was very, very beauti- ful. And a look of settled sorrow add- ed to her dignity r there was pride rather than ‘‘ THAYENDANEGEA!” The mother laid her small hand upon the impatient youth’s shoulder, as she uttered this word, and for a moment she looked him full in the face, firmly, but not unkindly. He cast his eyes down for a moment, and then said: ‘Mother, my ears are open to your words— your eyes go through me, as the sun pierces the water !” “The first duty of a warrior is to learn pa- tience and fortitude!” she said, slowly. “Yes, mother! To bear hunger, thirst, pain of body, all without a murmur or a groan! These I am equal to, but not, not to this agony of mystery. To know that J am something, and ‘yet know not what—to feel that I have a field of action open for me—for me alone—yet know not where it is—to know that you have some hidden sorrow in your 10 Cents a Gopy. Vol LX $1.00 a Year. . ’ “ Where you must guide me!” continued the youth. ‘Twill stand beside my father’s grave, and there learn my name—there take counsel of his spirit, and learn what a warrior’s son should do. Mother, we must go to the Mohawk!” a LF ig I dare not!” “Mother, you are a squaw!” No pen could describe, or pencil properly de- lineate, the tone and attitude with which those words were delivered. To call a warrior a squaw is the deadliest insult which can be given; to remind a woman that she is a squaw, is to bitterly reproach her for uwnvomanly weakness, His scornful tone—low, but deep and taunt- ing; his turning upon his heel, with arms folded upon his breast, as if he deemed. it beneath him to look upon her—all struck, like a thousand serpent bites, into her very heart, and she pressed one hand there, as if to smother the fire, while the other was raised, and seemed to invoke belpfrom above. To add to the striking pic- ture, a lovely girl —a year or more riper in age than the boy — came bounding to her side, bearing in her hands wreaths of * flowers, and follow- ed by a beautiful fawn. “What is the matter, mother? Has Thayendane- fea angered thee? forgive him, for ONALOVA’S. sake!” and the lovely crea- ture knelt at her mother’s feet, and, drawing away the hand from over that aching heart kissed it again and again, The woman did not look down. at her daughter: her eye was upon the boy, who, firm as if he had been a statue of bronze, stood as first he turned. ** Does it becomé the son of a brave warrior, and the fu- ture chief of a na- tion, to insult the mother who gave him life?’ she said, at last, in a voice 80 low that it seem- ed scarcely to have left her lips; yet it reached his ears — his heart, too, The folded . arms were unbent, and the flashing eyes cast down; slowly, as if all unwilling to yield to his own convictions of wrong, the youth turned toward his mother, and, in @ heart, and not know where to seek him who | low, sad tone, said: laced it there! ther?” Again I ask—where is my | “Buried on the banks of the dear, dear Mo- | cast its li hawk, where—where—” rush at Hileels 1 : w. singled The woman next Rhee doses herself, but pele nga W away; Ww. © has won a watts iis he will come back to her!” He will ‘‘ Thayenda-ne-gea has done wrong: ene ta i ) , when his mother cried: