The savage winced as the keen blade glistened around his brow; he had no other thought than that he was about to be scalped alive!
“’Tain’t the way I’d raise his har, the dodrotted skunk!” muttered Rube, as he stood watching the operation. “Fotch the hide along wi’ it, Bill! It ’ll save bother—’ee’ll hev to make a wig ef ’ee don’t; skin ’im, durn ’im!”
Of course Garey did not give heed to this cruel counsel, which he knew was not meant for earnest.
A rude “scratch” was soon constructed, and being placed upon my head, was attached to my own waving locks. Fortunately, these were of dark colour, and the hue corresponded.
I fancied I saw the Indian smile when he perceived the use we were making of his splendid tresses. It was a grim smile, however; and from the first moment to the last, neither word nor ejaculation escaped from his lips.
Even I was forced to smile; I could not restrain myself. The odd travestie in which we were engaged—the strange commingling of the comic and serious in the act—and above all, the ludicrous look of the captive Indian, after they had close cropped him—was enough to make a stone smile. My comrades could not contain themselves, but laughed outright.
The plume-bonnet was now placed on my head. It was fortunate the brave had one—for this magnificent head-dress is rarely worn on a war-expedition; fortunate, for it aided materially in completing the counterfeit. With it upon my head, the false hair could hardly have been detected under the light of day.
There was no more to be done. The painter, hairdresser, and costumier, had performed their several offices—I was ready for the masquerade.