Okapa raised his hand. Save for the tense breathing of the multitude there was silence in the lodge. Phil, forgetful of all danger, pressed more closely against the buffalo skin to see.
CHAPTER VI
THE MEDICINE LODGE
Okapa uttered a name. A young warrior, bare to the waist, stepped forward, entering the circular space within the ropes. He called a second name, and a second warrior responded in like manner, then a third and fourth, and so on until his list was complete with twelve. These were to be the dancers. One was chosen for every one hundred persons--men, women, and children--in the band. Therefore, this village had a population of twelve hundred.
The dancers, all young men, stood close together, awaiting the signal. They had been taking strange compounds, like drugs, that the Indians make from plants, and their eyes were shining with wild light. Their bodies already moved in short, convulsive jerks. Any dancer who did not respond to his name would have been disgraced for life.
After a few moments Okapa called six more names, with a short delay after every one. Six powerful warriors, fully armed with rifle, tomahawk, and knife, responded, and took their position beside the ropes, but outside the ring. They were the guard, and the guard was always half the number of the dancers.
Now the breathing of the multitude became more intense and heavy, like a great murmur, and Okapa handed to every one of the dancers a small whistle made of wood or bone, in the lower end of which was fastened a single tail feather of the chaparral cock or road runner, known to the Indians as the medicine bird. The dancers put the little whistles in their mouths, then the shaman arranged them in a circle facing the center. The crowd in the medicine lodge now pressed forward, uttering short gasps of excitement, but the guards kept them back from the ropes.
To the boy at the slit between the buffalo skins it was wild, unreal, and fantastic beyond degree, some strange, mysterious ceremony out of an old world that had passed. He saw the bare chests of the warriors rising and falling, the women as eager as the men, a great mass of light coppery faces, all intense and bent forward to see better. He knew that the air in the medicine lodge was heavy, and that its fumes were exciting, like those of gunpowder. Parallel with the dancers, and exactly in the center of their circle, hung the hideously carved and painted joss or wooden image. The twelve looked fixedly at it.
The shaman, standing on one side but within the circle, uttered a short, sharp cry. Instantly the twelve dancers began to blow shrilly and continuously upon their whistles, and they moved slowly in a circle around and around toward the right, their eyes always fixed upon the joss. The multitude broke into a wild chant, keeping time to the whistles, and around and around the dancers went. The shaman, stark naked, his whole body painted in symbols and hieroglyphics, never ceased to watch them. To Philip's eyes he became at once the figure of Mephistopheles.
It was difficult for Phil afterward to account for the influence this scene had over him. He was not within the medicine lodge. Where he lay outside the fresh cool air of the night blew over him. But he was unconscious of it. He saw only the savage phantasmagoria within, and by and by he began to have some touch of the feeling that animated the dancers and the crowd. An hour, two hours went by. Not one of the men had ceased for an instant to blow upon his whistle, nor to move slowly around and around the wooden image, always to the right. The dance, like the music, was monotonous, merely a sort of leaping motion, but no warrior staggered. He kept his even place in the living circle, and on and on they went. Perspiration appeared on their faces and gleamed on their naked bodies. Their eyes, wild and fanatical, showed souls steeped in superstition and the intoxication of the dance.