Austin. I think I can see him. But what colour was his war-horse?
Hunter. Black as a raven; but the white foam lay in thick flakes on his neck and breast, for his rider at every few paces stuck the sharp rowels of his Spanish spurs into his sides. He had a long flowing mane and tail, and his full and fiery eyes seemed ready to start out of his head. The whole Camanchee band was ready to rush into any danger. At one time, they were flying over the prairie in single file; and at another, drawn up all abreast of each other. The Camanchees and the Osages used to have cruel battles one with another. The Mandans and the Riccarees, too, were relentless enemies.
Brian. And the Sacs and Foxes were great fighters, for Black Hawk was a famous fellow.
Hunter. Yes, he was. But I have never told you, I believe, how the medicine man, or mystery man, conducts himself when called unto a wounded warrior.
Austin. Not a word of it. Please to tell us every particular.
Hunter. In some cases cures are certainly performed; in others, the wounded get well of themselves: but, in most instances, the mystery man is a mere juggler.
Basil. Now we shall hear of the mystery man.
Hunter. The Crow war-party that I had joined brought away two of their wounded warriors when they retreated from the Blackfoot village, but there seemed to be no hope of saving their lives. However, a mystery man was called on to use his skill.
Austin. Ay; I want to know how the mystery man cures his patients.
Hunter. If ever you should require a doctor, I hope you will have one more skilful than the mystery man that I am going to describe. The wounded warriors were in extremity, and I thought that one of them was dying before the mystery man made his appearance; but you shall hear. The wounded men lay groaning on the ground, with Indians around them, who kept moaning even louder than they did; when, all at once, a scuffle of feet and a noise like that of a low rattle were heard.