PS 3525 
 .03 A8 
 1922 
 Copy 1 
 
At the End of the Trail 
 
 A STORY OF THE 
 NEW JERSEY INDIANS 
 
 BY 
 MINNIE MAY MONKS 
 
 WINBEAM 
 
 WINBEAM LODGE :: WEST BROOK VALLEY, N. J. 
 
. <D 3 AS . 
 
 ©CI.A681322 
 
 JUL 21 1922 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 Up in the northern part of New Jersey 
 there is a little valley in the heart of the 
 mountains, and where now stands an old 
 farm-house, smoke once curled upward from 
 a group of wigwams, the home of a small 
 tribe of Indians. 
 
 In an English settlement in the valley of 
 the Passaic there lived, at this time, a young 
 Englishman named Allen, and probably no 
 white man had more friends among the In- 
 dians than he. Tall, strong, well built, with 
 a graceful swing to his shoulders as he 
 walked, dressed in fringed buckskin, a deer- 
 skin cap on his curly head, he was good to 
 look at. Besides, there was a happy reck- 
 lessness in his friendly manner, and a merry 
 twinkle in the clear blue of his eye that never 
 failed to please. From the time he could 
 remember, love for the wilderness had pos- 
 sessed him, and he was never so happy as 
 when he followed the trails and made friends 
 among the Indians. 
 
 Early one clear, cool morning in middle 
 May he filled his knapsack with food, slung 
 it over his shoulder, picked up his fishing 
 
 [5] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 fork and rifle, and started out for a hunting 
 trip, stopping, as was his custom, for his 
 friend Red Fox, an Indian brave who lived 
 nearby. Finding that Red Fox had gone on 
 a trapping expedition, he traveled on alone. 
 From Totowa he followed a trail through 
 Preakness to Pompton Plains, an old Indian 
 village where several trails converged, one 
 running south through Pequannock to Hobo- 
 ken, another extending west to Lake Hopat- 
 cong, and a number of short ones leading to 
 various fishing places along the water 
 courses. 
 
 Allen chose a narrow trail running north, 
 a trail new and unexplored to him. Here 
 and there, as he crossed the plains, he passed 
 a low-roofed stone house built by some 
 sturdy Dutch settler, but the farther north 
 he traveled the wilder and more beautiful 
 the way, and now he came to Yapewi Trail 
 along the river valley of the Wanaque, and 
 here was promise of good game, for, as he 
 rounded a sharp bend in the river, he caught 
 a glimpse of a red deer browsing by the 
 water's edge. 
 
 "This is luck," he thought, as he stepped 
 
 forward cautiously; but as he moved a dry 
 
 twig cracked sharply under his foot. At the 
 
 sound a big buck deer suddenly faced 
 
 [6] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 around, then with a wide leap plunged into 
 the thicket, with the whole herd following 
 close on his heels; they crashed through the 
 underbrush and were gone before Allen could 
 swing his rifle to his shoulder. 
 
 Somewhat chagrined, he strode on with 
 eyes and ears keenly alert, but out of all the 
 wood noises not once did his practiced sense 
 distinguish the sharp, dainty tread of a deer. 
 As he followed the trail he came to a huge 
 gray rock rising from the water. It was 
 gently sloping on the top and there had been 
 a fire built there recently. From the signs, 
 he knew it was the Council Rock of some 
 Indian tribe. As he walked out to its edge 
 he saw an Indian in a canoe fast disappear- 
 ing down the river. 
 
 Presently he came to a turn in the trail, 
 where a mountain brook joined its waters 
 with those of the larger stream. Here he 
 turned and followed the brook west, plunging 
 into a rough and mountainous region. Once 
 he shot off his rifle, and as the sharp report 
 echoed from the surrounding mountain 
 walls there was a flurry of wings above 
 him, and small game scurried across his 
 path in all directions; but no deer appeared. 
 Once he thought he spied a fawn in the deep 
 shadows of the forest, and he crawled up 
 
 [7] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 stealthily — to find it was only a bare, brown 
 rock flecked with sunlight. 
 
 "Fooled again!" he exclaimed, as he 
 turned aside to skirt the bank of the stream, 
 which now flowed through a forest of ever- 
 green, their branches so closely interlocked 
 that they shut out the sunlight. He stood 
 for a moment, drinking in the spirit and 
 breath of the greenwood, and listening to the 
 songs of nesting birds, then sauntered along 
 the trail until he saw bright sunlight ahead 
 and made his way to a natural clearing on 
 the mountain slope. Through an opening 
 between tall oak and hickory trees he looked 
 down upon a little valley of sunny meadows. 
 To the west, north, east, and south moun- 
 tains and wooded hills girdled the little 
 emerald valley, and through it a wide brook 
 sparkled silver in and out of overhanging 
 alders. Close by the brook delicate spirals 
 of smoke floated upward from a group of 
 small teepees. Back of him a wooded bank 
 rose sharply, where the white blossoms of 
 dogwood shone among a group of cedar and 
 hemlock trees. The sun was high in the 
 heavens, shining with bright warmth, and 
 the cool shade of the evergreens and beauty 
 of the dogwood looked inviting. 
 
 "A pleasant spot to eat," thought Allen, 
 as he opened his knapsack and spread his 
 
 [8] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 food on a flat rock beneath which trickled a 
 little spring brook. His appetite was like 
 himself — big and hearty — and when he had 
 finished there was but a slice of bread left. 
 This he crumbled and scattered over the 
 rocks below, for the birds and squirrels. 
 Then he stretched himself on a patch of thick 
 moss and rested there in lazy contentment. 
 A soft south wind touched his face caress- 
 ingly. Below sounded the low gurgle of 
 running water. Above him a bluebird sang 
 tender notes, and with every breath he 
 sensed the fresh woodsy odors of May time. 
 
 Gradually the blissful, carefree conscious- 
 ness of the wood life gave way to an ex- 
 quisite stupor, and he fell into restful, dream- 
 less sleep, while the sun crept slowly west- 
 ward till it sank behind the mountains, and 
 the shadows lengthened into twilight. Then 
 the furry and feathered night-people of the 
 forest came out, and the wood was filled 
 with the sound of their soft journeyings. 
 The full, bright moon rode up over the 
 mountains from the east, flooding the valley 
 with its wonderful light. 
 
 From his peaceful slumber the young 
 hunter was roused sharply, suddenly con- 
 scious that some noise had awakened him. 
 In the tree overhead a screech-owl rendered 
 
 [9] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 a melancholy dirge to the night; but it was 
 not this sound that had awakened him, Allen 
 thought, as he lay blinking drowsily; nor 
 was it the hungry howl of wolves up the 
 mountain. Presently it came again — the 
 sound of voices, the low guttural tones of 
 Indians. Allen sniffed the air; he scented 
 sassafras and green birch smoke. 
 
 'There's an Indian campfire hereabouts," 
 he thought. He listened again, then crept 
 cautiously toward the edge of the steep bank. 
 Below he saw a fire burning, and the light 
 from the blazing embers revealed dim figures 
 squatting in a circle. As he leaned forward 
 to get a better look, an old tree stump gave 
 way where his shoulder rested, and he was 
 hurled downward, amidst stones and loos- 
 ened earth. He felt a stinging blow on his 
 head, a violent wrench of his body and arm 
 as he crashed to the ground. He saw a tall 
 form bend over him, heard the murmur of 
 voices, and then he knew no more. 
 
 When he opened his eyes he found him- 
 self lying on a pile of skins in an Indian 
 wigwam. An Indian woman was bending 
 over him, pouring oil into a great gash on 
 his arm. Through his dulled senses the 
 smell of burning cedar-wood reached him, 
 and through the opening of the wigwam he 
 
 [10] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 saw the red glow of a fire, beside which 
 stood a tall Indian girl, stirring something 
 in a pot from which a light cloud of steam 
 floated upward. Far ofT he heard a whip- 
 poorwill calling. Was it a dream? Allen 
 thought. Now a dark form at the opening 
 of the wigwam shut out the sight of the fire, 
 and he looked up to see a tall, dignified old 
 Indian chief, who walked straight to where 
 he lay and eyed him with a glance so keenly 
 penetrating that, for a moment, Allen was 
 startled, till he reassured himself with the 
 thought that Indians were always friendly 
 to him. 
 
 "I White Owl," said the Indian abruptly. 
 "You from home of paleface ?" 
 
 "I came from the English settlement," 
 Allen answered, after pausing a moment to 
 collect his thoughts. 
 
 "You go to home of paleface no more," 
 announced the chief. "You White Owl's 
 prisoner," and the old man walked away as 
 abruptly as he had come. 
 
 Allen struggled to rouse himself, to mar- 
 shal his thoughts. The Indians had always 
 been his friends; but this tribe was new to 
 him, and he wondered what they did with 
 their prisoners. Then his thoughts trailed 
 off into a confused mass of unanswerable 
 
 [ix] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 questions, and he struggled with vague mem- 
 ories. He tried to shake off the deadly stu- 
 por that was possessing him, but his mind 
 only became more hazy. There was a ring- 
 ing in his ears, and his eyes were dim; then 
 he lapsed into unconsciousness, and knew not 
 how long he lay there helpless, nor how 
 faithfully the Indians tended his wounds in 
 their simple fashion. 
 
 Allen awoke from his stupor one day to 
 find the Indian girl watching by his side. 
 When she saw that he was conscious she 
 hastened away, returning with her father, 
 White Owl. The old chief lifted Allen's in- 
 jured arm, then let it drop heavily, lifted it 
 again and let it drop; then he began to pinch 
 the flesh. Not a sign of suffering showed 
 on the face of the sick man. The old chief 
 looked at the arm with great concern, then 
 stalked out of the wigwam and into the 
 forest. For three days Allen did not see 
 him. Then the chief returned, bringing a 
 peculiar brown burr. 
 
 "Three days I hunt for this," he said, 
 holding out the burr. Stooping down, he 
 began pricking the arm with the burr, inch 
 by inch, from the wrist upward, till the blood 
 oozed from every pore. He had almost 
 reached the shoulder, when suddenly the sick 
 
 [12] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 man gave such a cry that the Indian girl 
 sprang to his side. The old chief gave a 
 grunt of satisfaction, threw the burr away, 
 and without a word walked out of the wig- 
 wam. Feeling had returned to the injured 
 arm. At first the soreness of the raw flesh 
 was almost unendurable, but gradually the 
 pain subsided, and from that day Allen 
 gained slowly in strength, beginning to real- 
 ize how well these strangers were caring for 
 him. The old chief insisted that he smoke 
 the leaves of bearberries as a safeguard 
 against fever, and, mixed with killikinick, 
 he found the flavor and odor sweet and 
 pleasant and a good substitute for tobacco. 
 White Owl's squaw administered copious 
 draughts of a drink which she brewed from 
 herbs and roots that smelled better than 
 they tasted. One day, when a steaming bowl 
 of this concoction was brought to him, Allen 
 made such a wry face that Wenonah, the 
 chiefs daughter, nearly fell over him, gig- 
 gling with glee. Stooping down, she stroked 
 his hand, saying, "Man with eyes like the 
 sky, this make you well!" 
 
 "Yes, I should think it might," he an- 
 swered, smiling at the girl's mirth. "I 
 should think it would kill or cure any living 
 thing on earth!" And surely something was 
 
 [13] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 making him stronger — whether the herbs or 
 the good care, he knew not. 
 
 No further reference was made to Allen's 
 being a prisoner, and whenever the strange- 
 ness of his situation oppressed him he put 
 the thoughts away, realizing that the Indians 
 would offer no explanation till they chose to 
 do so; that an attempt to escape would prob- 
 ably be fatal for him ; and that, since he had 
 no real need to return to the English settle- 
 ment, he might content himself here. 
 
 White Owl's lodge stood at a little distance 
 from those of his tribe. His three wigwams 
 were built upon a hill, among tall pines and 
 hemlocks, and at the foot of the hill a clear 
 mountain brook tumbled over the rocks in 
 a series of waterfalls. On clear days Allen 
 limped out to a sheltered spot at the foot of 
 a pine tree, where Wenonah spread wolf- 
 skins on the ground. Through an opening 
 between the trees he could look down upon 
 the little group of teepees, and beyond them 
 the patches of ripening maize. 
 
 Beyond the clearing Winbeam, the most 
 beautiful of all the surrounding mountains, 
 shut the rest of the world from view, giving 
 the little valley a quiet seclusion, and making 
 it a little world of its own. 
 
 [14] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 Allen loved all the wild beauty, but had 
 it not been for the companionship of Weno- 
 nah, the young hunter would have been 
 lonely. White Owl had little to say to him, 
 the squaw not a word, and the men of the 
 tribe avoided him. Only Wenonah was 
 friendly. 
 
 "Man with eyes like the sky," she said one 
 day, "I give you a name. You wounded in 
 our lodge since Moon of Green Leaves, I 
 call you Teola." 
 
 "Teola let it be," he laughed, much 
 amused. As he grew stronger he encouraged 
 the girl to talk, and was greatly entertained 
 when she repeated old Indian legends, read 
 him signs from the clouds, and imitated the 
 calls of the wood creatures. Several times 
 he was startled by the bark of a wolf behind 
 him, until he learned to watch for the Indian 
 girl to come stealing from behind a shelter- 
 ing tree. She delighted in fooling him with 
 these imitations of animals and birds. One 
 day, hearing an owl hoot in a tree overhead, 
 he looked up to see the girl's bright eyes 
 laughing down at him from the branches 
 above. Sometimes It was the whippoorwill 
 call, a Bob White whistle, or the cooing of 
 a wood dove. She imitated all nature sounds 
 so cleverly that the white man marveled. 
 
 [15] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 One day, while Allen lay under the great 
 spreading branches of a pine tree, he noticed 
 for the first time a painting in White Owl's 
 wigwam. 
 
 "What does it mean, Wenonah?" he asked, 
 pointing to the picture of a wolf with one 
 raised leg in which it carried a gun with the 
 barrel pointed forward. 
 
 "That Indian's Totem. White Owl belong 
 to Wolf Clan," explained Wenonah, and told 
 him the legend of how the wolf became the 
 totem sign of the Minsies. Many other 
 legends she repeated as she pointed to the 
 figures on the wigwams. 
 
 Sometimes Allen fell asleep while Weno- 
 nah repeated legends and chanted Indian 
 songs in her soft, low voice. When he awoke 
 he would find her there still, watching by 
 him, and soon he felt a real fellowship for 
 the devoted little savage. She was the bright- 
 est and handsomest Indian girl he had ever 
 seen, and the most unusual, for she fished 
 and hunted with the privilege and freedom 
 of the Indian braves. The old chief was too 
 fond of her to prohibit her rambling where 
 she pleased, for she was his only child, and 
 the pride of his old age. Living as she did 
 in the open, Wenonah learned from all na- 
 ture what was good for her. One day, when 
 
 fi6] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 Allen presented her with a pine pillow, she 
 threw it back to him, saying, "No, Teola, 
 Wenonah no need lift for head. Wenonah 
 want to grow tall and straight like the trees 
 of the forest." 
 
 One morning Allen awoke earlier than 
 usual. Throwing aside his blanket, he 
 stepped out into the open, filling his lungs 
 with the clear, aromatic air, breathing in the 
 refreshing odors of the pines. Wandering 
 down towards the brook below, he reached 
 the waterfalls just in time to see Wenonah, 
 with her luxuriant black hair dripping with 
 water, come skimming up over the rocks with 
 the swiftness and agility of a deer. He 
 thought he had never seen such a wholesome 
 creature. 
 
 "You look as fresh as the morning," he 
 greeted her, as she sprang along a ledge and 
 came to his side. "Where have you been?" 
 
 "Wenonah go into water to make clean. 
 Omeme say Wenonah is as clean and as pure 
 as the flowers that grow." 
 
 "Who is Omeme?" Allen asked, as he 
 looked admiringly at the perfect bare limbs 
 of the girl, the water still glistening on her 
 smooth brown skin. 
 
 "Omeme ride up the trail in the Moon of 
 Bright Nights, Teola, one moon before you 
 
 [17] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 come. Omeme come with her paleface brave 
 when the Great Spirit come over Winbeam, 
 and they know not the trail. White Owl 
 say, 'Stay; eat and sleep at my lodge/ and 
 they stay till Great Spirit come again over 
 Winbeam, then Indian brave go with them 
 to show trail." 
 "And the sun, from sleep awaking, 
 
 Started up and said, 'Behold me!'" 
 
 "Yo-wah!" cried the girl as she sprang to 
 a ledge above Allen, where she stood motion- 
 less and erect, in an attitude of worship, with 
 her face turned toward the rising sun, then, 
 with hand uplifted, "Listen," she whispered, 
 "the Spirit Bird sings," and from the stillness 
 of the forest there floated the leisurely golden 
 voice of the woodthrush, mellow and serene, 
 with the peace of heaven in its notes. 
 
 "Ah, Teola, the Great Spirit is pleased 
 with his people. Are you not glad to live in 
 our valley, where the Spirit Bird sings, and 
 the waters laugh?" she cried joyously. 
 
 "Yes, Wenonah, I am happy here," Allen 
 answered, and for a long time he sat musing 
 after she had left him, thinking of the sim- 
 plicity of this Indian girl's religion, and her 
 joy and content in all things created. 
 
 Then he fell to wondering why he was 
 kept a prisoner. Wenonah could tell him if 
 
 [18J 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 he asked her; but he hastily put the thought 
 aside as unworthy. No! He could not take 
 advantage of the girl's friendship. He as- 
 sured himself that these Indians were not 
 bloodthirsty savages, but simple, quiet na- 
 tives of the mountains, clannish and suspi- 
 cious, but not cruel. When they wanted to 
 release him they would do so. Meanwhile 
 their reason for mistrusting him was a mys- 
 tery. 
 
 One morning when Allen awoke he found 
 by his side his fishing fork, and this encour- 
 aged him to ask if they had found his rifle 
 also; but the old chief gravely shook his 
 head and made no answer. That night 
 White Owl held a consultation with the men 
 of his tribe, and Allen resolved to break 
 through their Indian reserve by demanding 
 their reason for keeping him a prisoner. 
 
 In a sheltered nook under the hill, by a 
 pure cold spring called Tuppillowantica, the 
 tribe held their councils. Here they had a 
 bright fire burning, and the air was filled 
 with the odor of roasting venison. Allen 
 thought it a striking spectacle — the dark 
 swaying branches of the trees against the 
 starry sky above; below, the campfire flam- 
 ing, sputtering, leaping upward, lighting the 
 dusky faces of the Indians, who squatted 
 around it in a circle. 
 
 [.19] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 Allen made his way openly to the council 
 fire. When he came within hearing distance 
 there was silence. With a few grunts the 
 braves greeted him, but no one spoke a word. 
 He attempted several times to demand the 
 explanation he desired, but their suspicious 
 glances and dogged silence made him so un- 
 easy that he finally left the council and 
 walked back to his wigwam. 
 
 "They say nothing," he thought, "but they 
 convey more in a single look than a white 
 man could say in many words. They do not 
 trust me — " and the thought troubled him, 
 for he had always been accepted as a friend 
 in Indian camps. 
 
 In his close contact with White Owl's 
 family Allen had found them cleaner and 
 more prosperous than any Indians he had 
 known. The old chief provided well for his 
 family, and insisted that his people work to 
 provide for themselves. He governed his 
 little tribe well, and they seemed to be always 
 at peace. White Owl claimed all the forests, 
 valleys and streams, south and east of Ma- 
 copin, where Wickadouma, their landmarks, 
 loomed huge and dark on the mountain's 
 crest. The few Indians in these valleys came 
 to White Owl for counsel, as to a kind 
 father. 
 
 [20] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 "I think for the good of my people," the 
 old chief said to Allen one day. "My people 
 have plenty to eat because I teach them 
 how to provide, and when they go to trade 
 with paleface I go with them, so that no 
 brave of my tribe gets firewater to take his 
 senses away/' And the young Englishman 
 thought, "Many good lessons might my own 
 people learn from these forest folk." 
 
 Sometimes Allen grew tired of the Indian 
 cookery — their succotash, half-cooked meat, 
 queer roots and herbs; but they always had 
 plenty of berries and brook trout, and quan- 
 tities of maple sugar which they made from 
 the sap of the sugar-maples that grew near 
 the big lodge. They shared with Allen the 
 best they had, and he grew strong on the 
 simple diet. 
 
 Since Allen had dropped unexpectedly into 
 this Indian camp in the month of May, the 
 months had slipped quickly by. Moons, the 
 Indians called them. Moon of Strawberries, 
 the Thunder Moon, and Green Corn Moon 
 all had passed by. Now the Moon of Fall- 
 ing Leaves was here, and still he waited for 
 release. One day White Owl disappeared 
 from the camp and no word was spoken at 
 the lodge about his departure. As the days 
 went by Allen noticed that not a warrior 
 
 [21] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 passed along the trail; but Kohannah, the 
 swiftest runner of all the braves, now stayed 
 at the big lodge. 
 
 "As a guard over me," Allen thought. 
 The young Englishman made no attempt to 
 escape. He was sure Wenonah would be- 
 friend him if danger arose, for they were 
 great comrades. She climbed the mountains 
 with him till he was exhausted. Her slender 
 body never grew tired. Her dark, quick 
 eyes scanned every object that grew or 
 moved. She knew where the flowers of the 
 forest hid in the leaves and mosses, where 
 the tenderest shoots of wintergreen grew, and 
 the healing herbs each in its season. She 
 could wriggle through crevices in the rocks 
 where he dared not follow. 
 
 One day when Allen became helplessly 
 entangled in a network of twisted grapevines, 
 she gurgled with glee as he struggled. 
 "Kowe," she cried triumphantly as she 
 sprang into a loop of the vine above him, 
 swinging to and fro like a bird, and laugh- 
 ing down at him. She was like a playful 
 animal, always ready for a frolic. But for 
 all her wildness, she was as industrious as a 
 beaver. One morning Allen found her 
 pounding maize into meal in a hollowed 
 stone near the lodge. 
 
 [22[ 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 "Let me do that, Wenonah," he said, at- 
 tempting to take the stone mallet away from 
 her. 
 
 "No, Teola!" she cried. "You chase deer. 
 This Wenonah's work." 
 
 On their long rambles in the woods and 
 over the mountains, Wenonah gathered every 
 edible berry and root, and when the nuts 
 ripened in the autumn she stored them away 
 for the winter. 
 
 One morning she and Allen started out 
 with rude baskets to gather chestnuts. Half 
 a moon had gone by since heavy frosts and 
 autumn gales sent ripe nuts rattling to the 
 ground, with a chill in the air foretelling 
 the approach of winter. Then, all the color 
 in God's world mingled on the mountain- 
 side and in the valley — golden yellow 
 blended with emerald green; burning scarlet 
 flamed against smoldering crimson! Now 
 the days grew warm again. Nuts lay sweet 
 and dry and brown under crispy dead leaves. 
 The world was wrapped in sleepy warmth. 
 The air was hazy, and the sun shone dimly 
 through a golden atmosphere. It was the 
 Indian Summer, the season the red man 
 loved, a special gift of his favorite God, the 
 God of the Southwest, who sent soft winds 
 and golden warmth. 
 
 [23] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 This was a day to be remembered. A 
 Dream Day! Half unconsciously Allen 
 watched Wenonah, as she moved lightly 
 among the trees; at her cheeks glowing with 
 rich, dusky red; at her supple form as she 
 stooped to brush the leaves aside and 
 scooped up nuts by the handful. They filled 
 their baskets, and were starting back to the 
 lodge, when suddenly the girl stopped short. 
 "Look Teola," she said, pointing down the 
 trail, and Allen, looking, saw a long line of 
 tall, straight figures advancing toward them. 
 
 Three weeks had passed since White Owl 
 had disappeared from camp; three weeks 
 since an Indian had gone along the trail. 
 Now as the figures advanced in single file, 
 Allen recognized White Owl and his braves. 
 There was something noble and impressive 
 about these Indians, the young man thought, 
 as he watched them come nearer, and with 
 a friendly salute he greeted them from the 
 hilltop. He felt no fear at their approach. 
 He was truly glad to see the old Chief, and 
 down through the hazel brush he made his 
 way to meet him. 
 
 "Welcome home!" he said, as he laid his 
 hand on White Owl's shoulder, and to his 
 surprise there was an answering look of 
 friendliness in the old Chief's eyes, a look 
 such as he had never seen there before. 
 
 [24] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 "Prisoner no more!" said White Owl 
 abruptly. "You no spy. We let you go 
 free. Paleface treat Indian fair; Indian 
 treat Paleface fair. At Great Council we 
 meet Red Fox. He say you good friend to 
 Indian." 
 
 For a moment Allen was silent, while the 
 truth slowly dawned upon him. He remem- 
 bered that there had been many disputes as 
 to land seized by the settlers from the In- 
 dians. Now there came to his mind a vision 
 of that May night when he had leaned over 
 the bank to gaze down upon White Owl's 
 tribe gathered in council. As in a dream, 
 he remembered the voice of the old Chief 
 saying: "We go to the Great Council-fire to 
 make peace with paleface. We sell our land. 
 If paleface steal our land, on warpath we 
 go." Then Allen had fallen into their midst. 
 It was all plain to him now! These Indians, 
 always suspicious, had taken him for a spy 
 when he had fallen by their council-fire, 
 thinking that he had been listening to their 
 plans, as a scout for the settlers, and so they 
 had kept him a prisoner, lest he tell their 
 plans to the English! 
 
 "My good old Chief!" he cried, grasping 
 the Indian's hand, "so you thought me a 
 spy! You thought I would help steal your 
 
 [25] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 land. Not I, good Chief! My heart is all 
 for you and your people." Then he added, 
 "You have been to the Council. Tell me 
 about it." 
 
 "Ugh, Great Council," said White Owl 
 solemnly. "We, the Minsies, meet with the 
 Mingos at Lenapewihittuck, river of the 
 Lenni-Lenape; where the waters thunder and 
 the Council-fires burn. Chief of the pale- 
 face say, 'Let there be peace! We will buy 
 your land, and the Indians who have cap- 
 tured our people must let them go free!' 
 Then Tedyeskung, Chief of the Lenape, say 
 to his people, 'Let your paleface captives go. 
 This day we are paid for our land. We will 
 depart!' And Great Chief buries hatchet 
 deep in the ground." 
 
 Now White Owl turned to his daughter 
 and addressed her in her native tongue, and 
 as he spoke he threw a wampum necklace 
 over her head. As Allen listened to the old 
 Chiefs words, their meaning seemed to burn 
 his brain. The girl had been standing close 
 to the white man. Now as her father pre- 
 sented her with the necklace "for good duty," 
 she spoke: 
 
 "Wenonah no want necklace. Wenonah 
 want Teola," and she laid her face caress- 
 ingly against Allen's arm. For a moment 
 
 [26] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 anger held Allen silent, while a dull red 
 surged over his face. Then, with a gesture 
 of contempt, he pushed the girl from him. 
 This savage! He had called her a Child of 
 Nature; a fawn, a mountain nymph — every- 
 thing that was wild and sweet and beautiful, 
 and now, when he spoke, his voice was 
 harsh. 
 
 "And you would have killed me, you little 
 savage! You were set to watch me. If I 
 had tried to escape, you would have killed 
 me! You! who nursed me back to health, 
 and romped in the mountains with me." 
 
 Humbly the girl looked up at him, looked 
 unfalteringly into his burning eyes, then, 
 slipping to the ground in front of him, she 
 clasped both arms about his knees, looking 
 up at him as a whipped dog looks at its 
 angry master. 
 
 "Yes, Teola, Wenonah has death-arrow 
 here," and she drew forth a long sharp flint 
 arrow-head. "With this, Wenonah would 
 have killed Teola if he go. And this," she 
 slipped another arrow from her pouch — 
 "with this, Wenonah would have killed her- 
 self to go to Happy Spirit Land to be Teola's 
 squaw." 
 
 Allen's tense muscles relaxed, and as he 
 looked down at the girl the red anger slowly 
 
 [27] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 died out of his face. "Yes," he thought, 
 "she was all that he had called her, every- 
 thing that was wild, untamed, and beautiful, 
 with the mind and instincts of a savage. She 
 had only done her duty in watching him — 
 and she would have sacrificed her own life 
 with his." 
 
 His thoughts traveled quickly. He looked 
 at the faces around him, now lighted with a 
 new friendliness and good will. These peo- 
 ple had treated him well; they had shared 
 their best with him; a stranger and a 
 prisoner. Would his people have treated a 
 captive so well ? They were willing to spare 
 his life if they gained their end; they had 
 gained it — the government had paid them 
 for their land, and they were satisfied. Now 
 they stood around him, friendly, like peace- 
 ful children. 
 
 His eyes traveled over the little valley, 
 all wrapped in the soft golden haze of In- 
 dian Summer. He had learned to love it — 
 this valley nestling in the mountains; its 
 wildness and beauty were akin to his own 
 rugged, unsoiled nature. And this Indian 
 girl kneeling at his feet — he loved more than 
 anything else in his life. 
 
 "Come, Wenonah," he said gently, raising 
 her to her feet, "Teola will buy this valley, 
 and you shall live here forever, and be 
 Teola's squaw!" 
 
 [28] 
 
AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Hoboken, at the place of reeds and rushes. 
 
 Killikinick, mixture of barks and leaves. 
 
 Kohannah, swift. 
 
 Kowe, Indian cry of triumph. 
 
 Lake Hopatcong, at the waterfall. 
 
 Lenapewihittuck, river of the Lenape. 
 
 Lenni-Lenape, native; the original or pure 
 Indian. 
 
 Macopin, wild potato. 
 
 Mingos, one of the northern tribes of Lenape. 
 
 Minsi or Wolf Tribe, people of a stony 
 country. 
 
 Moon of Bright Nights, April. 
 
 Moon of Green Leaves, May. 
 
 Moon of Strawberries, June. 
 
 Thunder Moon, July. 
 
 Green Corn Moon, August. 
 
 Moon of Falling Leaves, October. 
 
 Passaic, in the valley. 
 
 Pequannock, land made clear for cultiva- 
 tion. 
 
 Pompton, wry-mouth. 
 
 Preakness, a young buck. 
 
 Tedyeskung, The Healer. 
 
 Teola, wounded in the lodge. 
 
 Totowa, to sink, dive under, but rise again. 
 
 Tuppillowantica, pure cold spring. 
 
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AT THE END OF THE TRAIL 
 
 Wanaque, from Wanki; peace, repose. 
 Wenonah, eldest daughter. 
 Wickadouma, Black Rock. 
 Winbeam, from Wimb, the heart of a tree. 
 Yapewi, on the river bank. 
 Yowah, exclamation of delight and content 
 for the Creator and Created. 
 
 [30]