At a signal he rose, and proceeded to the sweating lodge, being careful always to place his feet on the moccasins. At the door of the lodge Black Cat was standing, naked to the waist. The sorcerer, after remaining a few minutes in the lodge, came out again, holding a cutlass in his hand. He walked silently towards Black Cat, who, on seeing him, rose and stretched his left hand, saying:
"I gladly give the first joint of the forefinger of this hand to Natosh, if he will surrender my enemy to me, and allow me to lift his scalp."
"Natosh has heard thee: he accepts," the sorcerer replied, laconically.
With a blow of his cutlass he cut off the joint, which he threw over his head, uttering some mysterious words; while Black Cat, apparently insensible to the pain, continued his prayers. This operation terminated, the sorcerer took a rod made of willow branches and fastened by the tail of a prairie wolf: he dipped it in each of the dishes, and scattered the contents in the direction of the four winds, while invoking the Lord of life, fire, water, and air. These dishes, which no one had yet touched, were then divided among the spectators, who devoured them in a twinkling.
After this, the oldest warriors entered the medicine lodge: the women carefully covered them, and threw over the red-hot stones water which they drew from the sacred vessels, with sprigs of wormwood. After this ceremony, all the inhabitants began dancing round the hut, accompanying themselves with their chichikouis. During this time, he had placed on the pile of grass in front of the lodge, a buffalo head with its muzzle to the wind: then, taking a long pole covered with a brand new red blanket, which he offered to the Master of Life, he proceeded, followed by his relations and friends, to plant it before the sweating lodges.
The songs and dances continued. The sounds of the chichikouis became more animated. A species of frenzy seemed to seize on all the Indians, and the old women, who, till this moment, had remained passive spectators of the ceremony, rushed in disorder towards the lodge, uttering loud yells, and mingled with the noisy crowd.
Doña Clara remained alone at the foot of the tree, near the riverbank. No one paid any further attention to her. It seemed as if she had been forgotten in the general excitement. She took an anxious glance around: by a species of intuition she felt that the help she expected would arrive from the direction of the river. Carelessly and slowly, stooping every second to cull one of the charming flowers—something like our violets—which are the last to enamel the prairie, she approached the bank. All at once she felt herself pulled back by the skirt of her dress, and felt terribly alarmed. At the same time as this mysterious hand seized her, a voice whispered the simple words:
"To the right, and stoop."
The maiden guessed, rather than heard the words; but she obeyed without hesitation. Two minutes after, following a small path that opened before her, she found herself sheltered behind an enormous rock, on the riverbank. Two horses, saddled in the Indian fashion, were fastened to a picket near the rock. At a sign from Eagle-wing, Doña Clara leaped on to one of the horses, while the Indian bestrode the other.
"Good," he said, in his sympathising voice; "brave heart!" And letting loose the bridles of both horses, he said: