[CHAPTER XXII.]
THE WAR TRAIL.
The principal sachems of the tribe, collected at the entrance of the medicine lodge, were present at the departure of the warriors. Two bands, each composed of twenty braves, were drawn up side by side. At the head of the first stood the Stag, haughtily bestriding his horse, which was painted and accoutred in the Comanche fashion, so that it was quite as difficult to recognize as its rider. An ill-restrained delight glistened in the chief's fierce eyes. At the head of the second troop, composed of more aged and calm warriors, were Running Water and White Crow.
The women, children, and warriors who were to remain at home crowded the square. A deep silence, apparently caused by the expectation of an important event, prevailed among them. At the end of an instant the sachems assembled before the medicine lodge moved on one side, and made way for a man dressed in garments of strange shape, in which the most startling and discordant colours were brought together. This man was the sorcerer, or medicine man, of the tribe.
His step was imposing and haughty; his expressive face displayed enthusiasm and faith. In one hand he held a clumsy vessel, in which a tuft of wormwood was soaking; in the other he brandished a scalping knife. On reaching the centre of the square he stopped at an equal distance from the two troops, in front of a fire lighted expressly for the occasion. He stood for a moment motionless, with his head drooping on his chest, murmuring a few words in a low and indistinct voice; then he took out the wormwood, and sprinkled the four cardinal points, exclaiming, as he did so—
"Wacondah! Thou seest these warriors; be favourable to them, blind their enemies, and remove any snares from their path!"
After uttering these words, he deposited the vessel on the ground, felt in the parchment bag that hung by his side, and drew out a handful of moriche, which he dropped slowly into the fire, saying—
"Receive this offering, Wacondah! And let us know thy designs."
And, still continuing to drop the tobacco, he began dancing round the fire, brandishing his knife, and making strange contortions and grimaces. By degrees, his features altered, a white foam issued from the corners of his mouth, his hair stood on end, his eyes seemed ready to spring from their sockets, and he shouted in a hoarse and panting voice—