Page:Flint and Feather (1914).djvu/47

 He cut the cords; we ceased our maddened haste

I wound my arms about his tawny waist;

My hand crept up the buckskin of his belt;

His knife hilt in my burning palm I felt;

One hand caressed his cheek, the other drew

The weapon softly—"I love you, love you,"

I whispered, "love you as my life."

And—buried in his back his scalping knife.

Ha! how I rode, rode as a sea wind-chased,

Mad with sudden freedom, mad with haste,

Back to my Mohawk and my home. I lashed

That horse to foam, as on and on I dashed.

Plunging thro' creek and river, bush and trail,

On, on I galloped like a northern gale.

And then my distant Mohawk's fires aflame

I saw, as nearer, nearer still I came,

My hands all wet, stained with a life's red dye,

But pure my soul, pure as those stars on high—

"My Mohawk's pure white star, Ojistoh, still am I."