The Icelandic Canadian - 01.12.1971, Blaðsíða 47

THE ICELANDIC CANADIAN
45
was busy digging, the woman had
brought some boughs and laid them
on the edge of the grave. Now she
lined the grave carefully with
branches. Then the man climbed up
out of the grave and they stood look-
ing down at their handiwork. Often
they looked uneasily back over the
trail whence they had come, then they
walked together towards the wagon.
They lifted u,p the canvas side, took
out a cloth and spread it on the
ground, then a small pillow which
they laid on it. There was something
on the pillow. The bright moonlight
shone on the corpse of a small girl
scarcely three years of age. The little
white hands were crossed on her
breast and long golden curls fell on
the pillow. I saw the face clearly. It
was sweet and innocent with a slight
smile on the lips almost as if the
child were alive. The mother was re-
arranging the child’s clothing, straigh-
tening the gown and smoothing out a
crease, then she tucked it carefully
as if she were preparing the child for
bed. Though I heard no sound I saw
her heaving breast and the tears
coursed down her cheeks. They knelt
and kissed the little face and wept
bitterly, trying to comfort each other.
They carried the little corpse to the
grave and laid it gently down. Then
they spread the branches over the body
and lastly, covered it over with earth.
Then they knelt to pray beside the
little mound.
Though I was convinced that this
was not a natural scene I was witness-
ing, yet I was filled with compassion
for the bereaved parents.
Suddenly I was aware of something
ominous coming down the trail from
whence they had so recently come.
Several riders were fast approaching
as if they were pursuing someone. By
the way they rode I knew they were
Indians. Now I understood their un-
easiness. These poor pilgrims had
taken an opportunity to bury their
dead child and intended to hurry on
as soon as it had been accomplished.
But the pursuers had picked up the
trail and relentlessly followed to kill
them.
I seized my gun to defend them and
was about to call to warn them of the
danger, when I realized that these
were merely shades that I could not
interfere with, and it was wisest to
leave them alone. My dog was going
to leap to his feet but I held him
tightly. It seemed as if the pair did
not realize the danger they were in
until the Indians were almost upon
them. Then the man leaped to his
feet and helped his wife up. They
looked toward the wagon as if for
protection but it was too late. I saw
the trace of bullets and arrows fly
through the air though not a sound
broke the silence of the night.
Both swayed on their feet as if the
bullets had found their mark. They
embraced as if they knew this was the
last time they would ever hold one
another. Another shot was fired and
they fell together on the grave of their
child, dead.
The Indians hitched the horses to
the wagon and fled down the trail as
if they feared something would
pursue them. I watched them until
they disappeared from sight. Then I
was once more alone with my thoughts
in the stillness of the night.
I could not sleep for the remainder
of the night. At dawn I dozed and
awoke to find the sun shining. I tried
to tell myself that I had dreamed it
all and my conviction grew when I
looked about me and noticed that the
spot where they had buried the child
was not bare as I had seen it, but was
overrun with bushes and small trees.
Yet I could not contain my curiosity.