Pokračování textu ze strany 172
… and she holds out to him the war-club and utters the little squaw-yelp. Each brave takes his club, and now begins the crouch dance. Going three times around, and each time crouching lower while the squaws stand or sit in a circle, arms down tight to side, but bodies swaying in time to music. In the fourth round all are crouching very low and moving sideways, facing inward.
The music suddenly changes, and all do the slow sneak toward the centre with much pantomime and keeping right foot advanced always. The squaws watch eagerly and silently, leaning forward, shading their eyes with one hand. All the braves strike the scalp-block together, utter the loud war-whoop, and stand for a moment with hands and weapons raised high, then in time to the fast drum, dance quickly erect with high steps and high heads to the squaws, who utter the squaw-yelp for welcome, and all sit down as before.
The squaws begin the singing again, repeat the whole scene, but this time the chief falls when the block is struck, and is left lying there when the other braves retire.
His squaw stands up, and says: “Where is my chief who led you to battle? Why has he not come back to me?”
All look and whisper; the squaws get up to seek. At once they find him, and, kneeling about him with clasped hands, break forth in the squaw-lament for the dead, which is a high-pitched, quavering wail. The warriors lift him up and slowly carry him off the scene, out of sight, followed by the squaws, who, with heads bent, sing:
Our chief, our warrior true
Is lost to all, to me and you.
Dire fall our vengeance due
On those who slew our warrior true.
Repeat it many times; as they disappear, the music dies away, fainter and fainter.
If no squaws take part, let the braves enter in procession, singing, and carry their clubs throughout, and seek the dead as the squaws do.
