With a bit of
sharp-edged flint he scraped tiny curls of shavings from a half-formed
ashwood arrow, which, from time to time, he lifted even with one eye to
look along its glimmering length toward the light, to see that it was
straight and flawless, his soft, even voice warbling out the strangely
beautiful Indian tradition of
THE SHADOW TRAIL
"You young palefaces that are within my heart know well what a path
through the forest is, or what a track across the valley means, but
the Indian calls these footways 'a trail,' and some trails are hard to
follow. They hide themselves in the wilderness, bury themselves in the
swamps and swales, and sometimes a man or a buffalo must beat his own
trail where never footstep has fallen before. The Shadow Trail is not of
these, and at some time every man must walk it. I was a very small, very
young brave when I first heard of it. My grandsire used to tell me, just
as I tell you now, of the wonder country through which it led, of the
wise and knowing animals that had their lairs and dens beside it, of the
royal birds that had their nests and eyries above it, of the white stars
that hovered along its windings, of the small, whispering creatures of
the night that made music with their cobweb wings.
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