A Spectre of Power by Mary Noailles Murfree

A FINE outlook at life the Ancient Warrior enjoyed. The sun came splendidly up from over the blue and misty domes of the Great Smoky Mountains, and the beautiful Chilhowee Range suddenly sprang from the nullity of darkness into all the chromatic richness of autumnal color. A wind went chanting blithely through its dense woods, as if it were fitting there to be happy where all was so gay. The river, a trifle of fog blurring its silver sheen here and there, reflected the gorgeous tints of the red and gold forests on its banks and caught the light with an added glister. The world was so fresh, so misty sweet, so newly created! The rocks echoed the barbaric notes of the blasts blown on the conch shells, as with the joyful cries of the ritual of their ancient religion the Cherokee braves went down into the water in their symbolic ablutions.

Smoke had long been curling up from the hearths of the houses, and presently the brisk "second man" of the town was marshaling out his cohorts of women and girls to work in the fields. Callum was surprised to see the placid and smiling faces that they wore, for field work in these rich soils is held to be far less drudgery than housework, and even now a feminine farm laborer is hardly to be found to exchange willingly. The Indians always protested that their division of labor, which allotted field work to the woman, favored the weaker vessel, and by no means implied that indifference and scorn of her attributed to them by the white people.