questioningly
And awaited my understanding.

So I slipped from my robe of doeskin,
And fighting my way through the black muck,
And the snares of the entangling round leaves,
I gathered the white flower riding like a spirit canoe
That had sheltered fatness for my sister Heron.

Clean and white as storm foam I washed it,
Carefully on the home trail I carried it,
Like a living thing to my wigwam I took it,
And I put it in a cooking kettle
Overflowing cold water from mountain torrent,
Then I waited for the spirit to make me a sure sign.

That night, when Coüy-oüy's shadow touched me,
Like a star fallen from on high was her beauty.
Her eyes rested for the first time
On the white flower of the still waters.
On her knees she made a little medicine over it;
In her throat she chanted a hushed song
Of exultation and worship,
Over the wonder beauty of the white flower
That she had never known
In the far, cold land of the Killimacs.

On her face there was a veiling breath mist
Like the softest ray from the lovers' moon;
All around her wrapped the blue light blanket
That seemed to steal from her body
Creeping through her white robe.

Then, Medicine Man, I told her this fair tale:
That I loved a young Brave
Son of the mighty Eagle Feather,
The Chief of a high mountain tribe far north of us,
And that when he saw me in the deep forest
Holding up high the fair water flower
The lure of its white magic
Would make in his cold heart
That strong medicine I needed,
To bring him face to face with me
In that great understanding
Which is followed by union, among our tribes.

O Medicine Man, I told her by word
And by convincing sign talk
That if her heart ran soft as gold sweetness
At the coming of any of our young Braves,
And her roving eyes flew to them
Searching for loving understanding,
Until she feared they would betray her,
And the tongue of her heart pled for them,
And her willing hands thought sweet sign talk—
If she would hold aloft the white flower,
That she had gathered from the water,
Deep in the thickness of the forest
Where none but her Brave could see it,
It would surely make for her the great magic
That would draw him straight to the flame
Of the candle she set before her wigwam.

Long and long and long again
She watched the white flower.
All her heart melted at its gold heart sweetness;
And then she looked deep into my eyes,
To spirit depths she searched me carefully,
But pride would not let me quail before her.

She knew she had barely missed
The peril of the death snake:
She had sent hunters to bring its rattles for her.
She knew she had faced the red death
By the black killer of the treasure cave;
Yet was my spirit so strong over her doubting
That once again in the chill of early morning
She set her proud feet confidently
On the forest trail I pictured for her.

She knew not how the white flower
Of the still water lifted to the sun,
She knew not the wind reeds and flute rushes.

I told her the path her feet must follow alone,
That when she saw a white flower
Like a rocking canoe cradled by soft wind,
Riding on the breast of the blue water,
She should leave her robe in the deep forest,
She should run like the chased antelope,
And leap from the sand shore
To the resting place of the flower.
She should snatch it in her hand, hold it high,
And swim back to the red beach of dawning.

But Medicine Man, O Medicine Man,
I sent her not on the meadow path
Where the war ponies fattened.
I sent her not to the still black water
Of the singing reeds and rushes,
Where the charmed spirit flowers
With sun hearts and snow faces
Spread in flocks like feeding gulls
Over the breast of the dark waters.

Medicine Man, I sent her straight to that one spot
On the sands of the great sea water in the deep bay,
In the sheltered cove of the soundless depths
Where every Canawac knew there crouched waiting
The hungry Monster of the lazy sucking sands.

Again I watched all the moon time
And in the gold red morning
She slipped from her wigwam
And entered the ancient forest.
Soft as flame ascending, swift as night bird flying,
I circled past her among my familiar tree brothers.
Long before her coming to the bay of torture,
I dropped the snaring white flower,
Fresh and lovely, a convincing decoy,
Far into the heart of the pitiless death pool
Where the eager mouths of the swallowing sands
Embrace and draw, quietly, but so surely
That no strength of arm can lift,
No power of spirit can save their victim.

Behind the rocks I hid and waited;
In anguish I prayed to the Great Spirit
That the luring white flower of wonder
Might rest on the gently heaving water
Until the time of the coming of my enemy.

As I waited with my eyes ever watching, watching
The wave cradled flower white as swan feathers,
Through the air shot the slim scarred form
Of Coüy-oüy, my hated enemy.

Her slender feet touched the water
And went down softly as a diving bird,
Her reaching hand caught the white flower surely.

She lifted her face to the face of the morning;
The beauty that shone upon her
Was like the beauty of the Great Spirit
When he had first the vision of the flower world
And the wonder of flower magic was sent to him.

Coüy-oüy held the water flower in high triumph;
She gazed at it, she laughed to it, she kissed it,
She laid it against her glad face like a papoose,
And chanted to it throaty words of lullaby.
Then with the other hand and with her quick feet
She began swimming to reach the certain shore.

When her light feet would not lift to the surface
And her strong stroke would not move her body,
Slowly the dawn light faded from her face
And a look like the look of a little hurt papoose
Came over her in slow wonder—
A look of surprise, of doubt
That her strength could be unavailing.

Then she struggled like an arrow stricken sea bird,
For the sure sands grip their captive cruelly.

Then gray terrors came sweeping upon her,
And her face was white, white as the white flower
That she held at arm's length above her.

Her black oiled braids floated out on the water,
While a cry, a shrill cry, a high screaming cry,
The voice of a wounded mountain lion,
Rang from her lips in quivering terror.

I knew who had carefully taught her
To use that cry in time of trouble:
I knew that for my Brave she was calling.
And I knew, too, how the wood and the water
Carried sound far distances to wild ears.

I wondered if Mountain Lion were on the water
Or if he were hunting the wide forest
Or if he were drilling ornaments of blue shell
Or weaving the sacred, singing fire bird
A new wigwam of gold osiers.

Only once she screamed that awful wild cry,
Then her struggles were the final battle.
Already her face of anguish was even
With the treacherous water hiding death,
Already her slender body was forever encased.

One arm slowly beat the fair bay helplessly;
But