One sultry August night a party of Sac and Fox Indians were encamped in a grove of oaks opposite Rock Island, on the western side of the Mississippi. Among them were Main-Pogue and Waubeno.

The encampment commanded a view of the burial hills and bluffs of the abandoned Sac village.

As the shadow of night stole over the warm, glimmering twilight, and the stars came out, the lights in the settlers' cabins began to shine; and as the Indians saw them one by one, their old resentment against the settlers rose and bitter words passed, and an old warrior stood up to rehearse his memories of the injustice that his race had suffered in the old treaties and the late war.

"Look," he said, "at the eyes of the cabins that gleam from yonder shore. The waters roll dark under them, but the lights of the canoes no more haunt the rapids, and the women and children may no more sit down by the graves of the braves of old. Our lights have gone out; their lights shine. Their lights shine on the bluffs, and they twinkle like fireflies along the prairies, and climb the cliffs in what was once the Red Man's Paradise. Like the fireflies to the night the white settlers came.

"Rise up and look down into the water. There—where the stream runs dark—they shot our starving women there, for crossing the river to harvest their own corn.

"Look again—there where the first star shines. She, the wife of Wabono, floated there dead, with the babe on her breast. Here is the son of Wabono.

"Son of Wabono, you ride the pony like the winds. What are you going to do to avenge your mother? You have nourished the babe; you are good and brave; but the moons rise and fall, and the lights grow many on the prairie, and the smoke-wreaths many along the shore. Speak, son of Wabono."

A tall boy arose, dressed in yellow skins and painted and plumed.

"Father, it is long since the rain fell."

"Long."

"And the prairies are yellow."

"Yellow."

"And they are food for fire."

"Food for fire."

"I would touch them with fire—in the east, in the west, in the north, and in the south. The lights will go out in the cabins, and the white woman will wander homeless, and the white man will hunger for corn. They shot our people for harvesting our corn. I would give their corn-fields to the flames, and their families to the famine in the moons of storms."

"Waubeno, you have heard Wabono. What would you do?"

"I would punish those only who have done wrong. The white teacher taught so, and the white teacher was right."

"Waubeno, you speak like a woman."

"Those people should not suffer for what others have done. You should not be made to bear the punishments of others."

"Would you not fire the prairies?"

"No. I may have friends there. The Tunker may be there. He who spared Main-Pogue may be there. Would I burn their cabins? No!"

"Waubeno, who was your father?"

"I am the son of Alknomook."

"He died."

"Yes, father."

"There was neither pity nor mercy in the white man's heart for him. You made your vow to him. What was that vow, Waubeno?"

"To avenge his enemies—not our friends."

"Brothers, listen. The white men grow many, and we are few. In war we are helpless—only one weapon remains to us now. It is the thunderbolt—it is fire.

"Warriors, listen. The moon grows. Who of you will cross the river and ride once more into the Red Man's Paradise, and give the prairies to the flames? The torch is all that is left us now."

Every Indian raised his arm except Main-Pogue and Waubeno, and signified his desire to unite in the plan for the desolation of the prairies.

"Main-Pogue, will you carry your torch in the night of fire?"

"I have been saved by the hand of a white man, and I will not turn my hand against the white man. I could not do it if I were young. But I am old—my people are gone. Leave me to fall like the leaf."

"Son of Alknomook, what will you do?"

"I will follow your counsel for my father's sake, but I will spare my friends for the sake of the arm that was stretched out over the head of Main-Pogue."

"Then you will go."

"I would that I were dead. I would that I could live as the white teacher taught me—in peace with every one. I would that I had not this blood of fire, and this memory of darkness, and this vow upon my head. The white teacher taught me that all people were brothers. My brain burns—"

Late in the evening Waubeno went to Main-Pogue and sat down by his side under the trees. The river lay before them with its green islands and rapid currents, serene and beautiful. The lights had gone out on the other shore, and the world seemed strangely voiceless and still.

"How did he look, Waubeno?"

"Who look?"

"That man who saved you—stretched his arm over you."

"His arm was long. His face was as sad as an Indian's; and he was tall. He was a head taller than other men; he rose over them like an oak over the trees. The men laughed at him; then his face looked as though it was set against the people—he looked like a chief—and the men cowered, and jeered, and cowered. I can see how he looked, but I can not tell it—I can see it in my mind. I told him that I would tell Waubeno, and he seemed to know your name. Did you never meet such a man?"

"Yes, in the Indiana country. He was journeyed from the Wabash."

The Indians, after the council we have described, began to cross the Mississippi by night, and to make stealthy journeys into the Rock River country, once known as the Red Man's Paradise. Rock River is a beautiful stream of the prairies. It comes dashing out of a bed of rocks, and runs a distance of some two hundred miles to the Mississippi. Here once roamed the deer and came the wild cattle in herds. Here rose great cliffs, like ruins of castles, which were then, as now, cities of the swallows. Eagles built their nests upon them, and wheeled from over the flowers of the prairies. The banks in summer were lined with wild strawberries and wild sunflowers. Here and there were natural mounds and park-like woods, and oaks whose arms were tangled with grapevines.

Into this country ran Black Hawk's trail, and not far from this trail was Prairie Island, with its happy settlers and new school. The German school-master might well love the place. Margaret Fuller (Countess Ossoli) came to the region in 1843, and caught its atmosphere and breathed it forth in her Summer in the Lakes. Here, in this territory of the Red Man's Paradise, "to me enchanting beyond any I have ever seen," where "you have only to turn up the sod to find arrow-heads," she visited the bluff of the Eagles' Nest on the morning of the Fourth of July, and there wrote "Ganymede to his Eagle," one of her grandest poems.

"How happy," says this gifted soul, "the Indians must have been here! I do believe Rome and Florence are suburbs compared to this capital of Nature's art."

Black Hawk's trail ran from this region of perfect beauty to the Mississippi; and long after the Sacs and Foxes were compelled to live beyond the Mississippi, the remnants of the tribes loved to return and visit the scenes of the land of their fathers.

The Indians who had plotted the firing of the prairies made two stealthy journeys along the Rock River and over the old trail under the August moon. In one of these they rode round Prairie Island, and encamped one night upon the bluff of the Eagles' Nest, under the moon and stars. Waubeno went with them, and gazed with sad eyes upon the scenes that had passed forever from the control of his people.

He saw the new cabins and corn-fields, the prairie wagons and the emigrants. One evening he passed Prairie Island, and saw the lights glimmering among the trees, and heard the singing of a hymn in the school-house, where the people had met to worship. He wished that his own people might be taught these better ways of living. He reined up his pony and listened to the singing. He wished that he might join the little company, though he did not know that Jasper was there.

He rode away amid the stacks and corn-fields. He saw that the fields were dry as powder.

Out on the prairie he turned and looked back on the lights of the settlement as they glimmered among the trees. Could he apply the torch to the dry sea of grasses around the peaceful homes?

Once, revenge would have made it a delight to his eyes to see such a settlement in flames. But Jasper's teaching had created a new view of life and a new conscience. He felt what the Tunker taught was true, and that the young soldier who had spared Main-Pogue had done a nobler deed than any act of revenge. What was that young man's motive? He pondered over these things, and gave his pony a loose rein, and rode on under the cool cover of the night under the moon and stars.