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In these hard hours the boy learned much. He hadpassed safely through battle. But there one was borneup by the thrill and excitement of the charge, the firingand shouting and the comradeship of his fellows. Herehe was alone, silent and waiting. Enduring such as that, his will achieved new powers. A single day saw themental growth of a year or two.
The sun passed the zenith and crept slowly down thewestern heavens. Welcome shadows appeared in theeast, and the far lodges of the Comanches grew misty.Phil thought now that the village would sink into quiet, but he noticed instead a great bustle, and many peoplegoing about. Squaws bore torches which made a brightcore of flame in the increasing dusk, and Phil was quitesure now that something unusual was going to occur. Itseemed to him that the whole population of the villagewas gathering about the great medicine lodge. It mustbe the beginning of some important ceremony, and thetime to enter the Comanche village was propitious. Heinferred that on such an occasion the guard would berelaxed, at least in part, and as he heard the sound ofhundreds of voices chanting monotonously he preparedfor his great adventure.
The twilight faded, and the night came in its place, thick and dark. The sound of many voices, some singing, some talking, came clearly through the crisp, dryair. The core of light before the medicine lodgeincreased, and, by its radiance, he saw dusky figureshastening
made of woodor bone, in the lower end of which was fastened a singletail feather of the chaparral cock or road runner, knownto the Indians as the medicine bird. The dancers putthe little whistles in their mouths, then the shamanarranged them in a circle facing the center. The crowdin the medicine lodge now pressed forward, uttering shortgasps of excitement, but the guards kept them back fromthe ropes.
To the boy at the slit between the buffalo skins it waswild, unreal, and fantastic beyond degree, some strange, mysterious ceremony out of an old world that had passed.He saw the bare chests of the warriors rising and falling, the women as eager as the men, a great mass of lightcoppery faces, all intense and bent forward to see better.He knew that the air in the medicine lodge was heavy, and that its fumes were exciting, like those of gunpowder.Parallel with the dancers, and exactly in the centerof their circle, hung the hideously carved and paintedjoss or wooden image. The twelve looked fixedly at it.
The shaman, standing on one side but within the circle, uttered a short, sharp cry. Instantly the twelve dancersbegan to blow shrilly and continuously upon theirwhistles, and they moved slowly in a circle around and aroundtoward the right, their eyes always fixed upon the joss.The multitude broke into a wild chant, keeping time tothe whistles, and around and around the dancers went.The shaman, stark naked, his whole body painted insymbols and hieroglyphics, never ceased to watch them. ToPhilip's eyes he became at once the figure of Mephistopheles.
It was difficult for Phil afterward to account for theinfluence this scene had over him. He was not withinthe medicine lodge. Where he lay outside the fresh coolair of the night blew over him. But he was unconsciousof it. He saw only the savage phantasmagoria within, and by and by he began to have some touch of thefeeling that animated the dancers and the crowd. An hour, two hours went by. Not one of the men had ceased foran instant to blow upon his whistle, nor to move slowlyaround and around the wooden image, always to theright. The dance, like the music, was monotonous, merely a sort of leaping motion, but no warriorstaggered. He kept his even place in the living circle, andon and on they went. Perspiration appeared on theirfaces and gleamed on their naked bodies. Their eyes, wild and fanatical, showed souls steeped in superstitionand the intoxication of the dance.
Many of those in the crowd shared in the fierceparoxysm of the hour, and pressed forward upon the ropes,as if to join the dancers, but the armed guard thrustthem back. The dancers, their eyes fixed on the joss, continued, apparently intending to go around the circleforever. The air in the lodge, heavy with dust and theodors of oil and paint and human beings, would havebeen intolerable to one just coming from the outside, butit only excited those within all the more.
Phil's muscles stiffened as he lay on the bough, buthis position against one of the wooden scantlings thatheld the buffalo skins in place was easy, and he did notstir. His eyes were always at the slit and he becameoppressed with a strange curiosity. How long could themen maintain the dancing and singing? He wasconscious that quite a long time had passed, three or fourhours, but there was yet no faltering. Nor did the chantof the crowd cease. Their song, as Phil learned later, ran something like this: