Slowly the serpents came from their covering. One remained coiled on the raised wrists, the other—still sounding the ominous rattle—moved slowly downwards till it rested on the man's shoulder. Then Thunder-maker inclined his head, as if listening to a whisper. Afterwards his face lit up with understanding.
"Huh!" he exclaimed. "Did not the spirit of Thunder-maker speak true? Come, my little papoose! You shall show for whom the fiery totem called."
Turning his head so as to look along his shoulder, the Indian suddenly grabbed the writhing reptile with his teeth, after which (holding the other serpent with his right hand) he commenced dancing until he had cleared an open circular space, of which the Indians and the white men formed the border.
Suddenly he sprang to the middle and tossed the snake to the ground, while he uttered a wild shriek.
Once on the earth, the snake glided swiftly in several directions, while all watched the creature with tense excitement. Then for a second it seemed to pause with its head in the direction of the Englishmen. At the same moment the Indian gave a cry of triumph, tucked the one snake into a fold of his robe and bent down, making passes with his hands above the serpent on the ground. And as his hands moved so the rattlesnake gradually straightened out its body till it lay stiff and straight as a piece of wood.
Thunder-maker paused. Then he rose up slowly and looked with triumph straight into the chief's face.
"My children say that the time has come to take the cloud from the Dacotah. My papooses show who answer call of fiery totem!"