Cogewea, the Half-Blood

Mourning Dove

XXVII The Forked Tongue of the Shoyahpee Listen not to what he tells you; Lie not down upon the meadow. Hiawatha The last rays of the sun had faded on the western horizon when the two supplicants drew near the firelit teepee. Cogewea raised a finger to her lips for silence. For a moment they stood before she stooped to the low curtained entrance. The aged occupant welcomed her grandchild in Indian silence, but when her gaze met the grey one of the hated Shoyahpee, her o…