I sleeps mos' all de time."
Gorged to the bursting point, the Wildcat rolled over in the warm sunlight. He preferred not to go to sleep again, but in five minutes he was snoring along at his old sixty-mile gait. He slept all day.
He was discovered and surrounded at evening by Running Bear and the rest of the tribe.
Running Bear sized up the situation and pulled off a pow-wow with three or four of his companions. They arrived at a verdict.
"A little black-face vaudeville might liven things up. These blasted tribal ceremonies need a cabaret attachment to jazz them up. How about it, redskins?"
"Let's go."
The verdict was unanimous.
Somewhere in the Wildcat's dreams there presently developed a rhythm in which the cadence of dancing feet punctuated his slumbers. His eyes opened finally, and within the range of his vision passed a parade of leaping figures. To his ears came the regular booming beat of a deerskin tom-tom, punctuated by an occasional blood-curdling yell.
His memory failed him.
"How come dis voodoo bizness?"