“Brother warriors!” he continued, raising his voice and speaking in an earnest tone, “I have said that the Wacoes will be grateful for this deed. I have a proposal to make. Hear me!”
All signified assent by gestures.
“It is our custom,” continued the speaker, “to elect our chief from the braves of our tribe. I propose that we elect him now and here—here! on the red field where his predecessor has fallen. I propose for our chief the warrior who has done this deed!” And the orator pointed to the fallen Pané.
“My voice for the brave who has avenged our chief!” cried one.
“And mine!” shouted another.
“And mine! and mine! and mine!” exclaimed all the warriors.
“Then solemnly be it proclaimed,” said the orator, “that he to whom belongs this trophy,” he pointed to the scalp of the Pané, “shall be chief of the Waco nation!”
“Solemnly we avow it!” cried all the warriors in the ring, each placing his hand over his heart as he spoke.
“Enough!” said the orator. “Who is chief of the Waco warriors? Let him declare himself on the spot!”
A dead silence ensued. Every eye was busy scanning the faces around the circle, every heart was beating to hail their new chief.