Here he came, after a bit, the queerest figure either of the white boys had ever seen in all their lives. ([Note 7].)
He paused long enough to gravely extend a skinny hand to each of the boys, and utter the one word he knew of English, just as Indians of to-day repeat it:
“How?”
Then, as if not wishing to remain on exhibition longer, he shook himself so that the little shells, rattlesnake rattles, dried gourds filled with pebbles, and other articles attached to his person gave forth, every variety of quaint sound, and vanished within his teepee.
The boys could hardly keep from laughing aloud, the old magician looked so ridiculous in his make-up as a “doctor,” who could chase away the spell cast about a sick person by the Evil Spirit, and by some “hocus-pocus,” as Roger called it, such as lying on the invalid, breathing into his nostrils, droning a singsong tune like nothing ever heard before by the ears of white men, and many other silly practices.
As they came near the village the boys had noticed that in a wood on a little mound there were numerous strange bundles, done up in dried buffalo hides, and tied with leather thongs, reposing on elevated platforms, which they could not make out at all. Fields told them, however, that this was the burial-place of the tribe; and he even pointed to various earthen vessels that were filled with food of a certain kind, resembling succotash. This, he stated, the Mandans believed was necessary, when members of the tribe had recently died, because they would need some sort of nourishment while on their long journey to the Happy Hunting Grounds.
“During the night,” Fields told them, “of course the hungry wild animals can creep up, and clean out these bowls. The Indians must know this, but they prefer to delude themselves with the idea that the spirit of the dead person has come in the night, and eaten the offering.”
Being deeply interested, the two boys made a close inspection of the place. In the open center of the burial-place were many skulls formed in a circle, all facing inward.
“What can they do that for?” asked Roger, who was hardly able to repress a shudder at the grim sight.
“I asked Fields, and he told me that, after the platforms break down, the skulls of the dead persons are preserved, and placed here. Although in life, perhaps, the brave has beaten his squaw many times, after he is gone she can be found here every day, talking to this poor old reminder of his presence on earth. Yes, he said she would caress it, even if, when the brave was alive, he had nothing but blows for her.”