Toward midnight speech-making began. The drummers stopped beating the drum, and an old patriarch walked from the fence toward the center group, and stood behind the squaws a moment in silence. Presently he softly uttered something that sounded like a prayer, to which all the dusky auditors responded feelingly at the close in a monosyllable not unlike "Amen." Then the drum-beating and dancing was resumed, continuing some moments, to be followed by another prayer.
At last, a great pipe was put through a series of mysterious calisthenics, and passed around among the drummers.
At midnight the full, round moon rose above the wooded hills, and cast a broad, silvery sash across the ring, illuminating the weird and grotesque scene. Now a squaw entered with a large earthen jar and passed it around to all the Indians, the bucks first. I was ignorant of its contents, as it was not passed to me and my white comrades. Fatigued from travel, I finally rested my head on Don's warm body, and went to sleep; and it must have been near one o'clock when Coonskin awoke me. Then we three, accompanied by my dog, started for the barn to lay ourselves out for a few hours' repose. I shall never forget that night.
Sam Lincoln said that several members of the tribe, a few weeks previous, had gone to visit another branch of the tribe in Wisconsin, in the absence of which a "meeting dance" was held every fourth night, when the Indians appealed to the Great Father for their safe return. Sam told me that in all their various dances a different drum was beaten—there was one each respectively for the snake dance, ghost dance, wolf dance, buffalo dance, peace dance, war dance, meeting dance, etc. The drum for the meeting dance, Sam pronounced beautiful, and "much nice"—"seven dollars fifty cents worth of quarters on it—all silver on drum—fine drum—much cost." The Indians valued their drums, evidently, more than any other of their possessions.
We rested well that night in our haymow bed, although the rats kept the dog busy till morning, so Barley said; he was the only one of us three who failed to sleep soundly. We rose in good season, and traveled five miles to Mountour, Barley Korker wheeling on in advance to order breakfast. He proved himself a good financier on this, his first, mission as Pod's official courier, and pleasantly surprised me by having bargained for three twenty-five cent breakfasts for fifty cents.
Before reaching Marshalltown, we met with a terrific thunderstorm, and rode up to the hotel at six o'clock in a drenched condition.
[CHAPTER XXVII.]
Adventure in a sleeping bag
BY MAC A'RONY.
What the devil was the good of a she-ass, if she couldn't carry a sleeping bag and a few necessities?—Stevenson.