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It had been swept, leaving no trace of cloud
And when the setting sun had lit that space In gold and crimson glory ; and the limbs
Of Wat-chee-kee were lithe and curved in grace; Light was her step as hunting cougar's tread; Her glowing eyes a star-bright luster shed.
Vanquished, the Inini watched from afar,
With listless soul, the orgies of his foe, And saw him dance in revelry about
The flames that laid his looted dwelling low. Then came fair Wat-chee-kee, of flashing eye,
Among the daunted warriors to plead, Beseeching them to rise and strike while night
Lent aid, and deep caroused the foe in greed. Yet sullen sat the broken Inini, Engloomed and overcast as wintry sky.
Then turned the maiden to the women there,
With blazing words that begged them shame to fight The craven, miscalled braves. Up rose the squaws,
A host of armed amazons, bedight. In plumes and soldierly arrayed, to dash
Against the enemy. Wat-chee-kee led, And seeing this, the men bestirred themselves.
So marched the motley band, with silent tread,