Chapter 31

Which is the merchant here, and which the Jew?
--Shakspeare.

The day dawned, the following morning, on a more, tranquil scene. The
work of blood had entirely ceased; and as the sun arose, its light was
shed on a broad expanse of quiet and solitude. The tents of Ishmael
were still standing, where they had been last seen, but not another
vestige of human existence could be traced in any other part of the
waste. Here and there little flocks of ravenous birds were sailing and
screaming above those spots where some heavy-footed Teton had met his
death, but every other sign of the recent combat had passed away. The
river was to be traced far through the endless meadows, by its
serpentine and smoking bed; and the little silvery clouds of vapour,
which hung above the pools and springs, were beginning to melt in air,
as they felt the quickening warmth, which, pouring from the glowing
sky, shed its bland and subtle influence on every object of the vast
and unshadowed region. The prairie was like the heavens after the
passage of the gust, soft, calm, and soothing.

It was in the midst of such a scene that the family of the squatter
assembled to make their final decision, concerning the several
individuals who had been thrown into their power, by the fluctuating
chances of the incidents related. Every being possessing life and
liberty had been afoot, since the first streak of grey had lighted the
east; and even the youngest of the erratic brood seemed conscious that
the moment had arrived, when circumstances were about to transpire
that might leave a lasting impression on the wild fortunes of their
semi-barbarous condition.

Ishmael moved through his little encampment, with the seriousness of
one who had been unexpectedly charged with matters of a gravity,
exceeding any of the ordinary occurrences of his irregular existence.
His sons however, who had so often found occasions to prove the
inexorable severity of their father's character, saw, in his sullen
mien and cold eye, rather a determination to adhere to his
resolutions, which usually were as obstinately enforced as they were
harshly conceived, than any evidences of wavering or doubt. Even
Esther was sensibly affected by the important matters that pressed so
heavily on the interests of her family. While she neglected none of
those domestic offices, which would probably have proceeded under any
conceivable circumstances, just as the world turns round with
earthquakes rending its crust and volcanoes consuming its vitals, yet
her voice was pitched to a lower and more foreboding key than common,
and the still frequent chidings of her children were tempered by
something like the milder dignity of parental authority.

Abiram, as usual, seemed