“But, this is a serious matter. Here! All you Pentagoets and visitors—don’t you know we’re all dead ones!” cried Uncle Bill in a sepulchral tone.
Thereupon, without further warning, he fell to the ground, dragging Edith, Miriam and Paul down with him in the death-struggle.
The other losers of scalps failed to realise their demise in such a dramatic manner, and contented themselves with laughing heartily at Uncle Bill and his three wriggling understudies.
“Where can we procure scalps?” asked Aunt Edith.
“Why, at any harness store. Get the horsehair dingle-dangles that we use as a substitute for the Black Bear brand,” replied Elizabeth, laughingly.
“I’m going to get a bright red one to show my heart’s blood!” exclaimed Paul.
“Then you’d better get another to use after the tribe votes you alive again,” advised Billy.
“All right, then I’ll get a blue one for that.”
As there were so many dead Indians about, the Council of the living reconvened and voted the dead hunters alive again. Bill was sent out to bring them in, and then the Council closed by singing the Zuni Sunset song.
Every one stood in a semi-circle facing the red glow beyond the western mountains, the light fading perceptibly as they sang.