The hunter's knife is soon upon her, and while warmth and even life are left, the skin is drawn off.
After the fatigues of the day comes the long and pleasant evening.

A bright fire burned in the wigwam of the chief, and many of the Indians were smoking around it, but Wenona was sad, and she took but little part in the laughter and merriment of the others.
Red Cloud boasted of his bravery and his deeds of valor; even the old men listened to him with respect, for they knew that his name was a terror to his enemies.

But Wenona turned from him! she hated to hear the sound of his voice.
The old men talked of the mighty giant of the Dahcotahs, he who needed not to take his gun to kill the game he wanted; the glance of his eye would strike with death the deer, the buffalo, or even the bear.
The song, the jest, the legend, by turns occupied them until they separated to sleep.

But as the warriors stepped into the open air, why does the light of the moon fall upon faces pale with terror?
"See!" said the chief, "how flash the mysterious lights! there is danger near, some dreadful calamity is threatening us." "We will shoot at them," said Red Cloud; "we will destroy their power." And the Indians discharged their guns in quick succession towards the northern horizon, which was brilliantly illuminated with the Aurora Borealis; thus hoping to ward off coming danger.
The brother and sister were left alone at the door of the teepee.

The stern warrior's looks expressed superstitious terror, while the maiden's face was calm and fearless.