7o IN THE OLD WEST 



and by the noise of many rattles, broke out into 

 a war-song, in which their own valor was by no 

 means hidden in a bushel, or modestly refused the 

 light of day. After this came the more interest- 

 ing ceremony of a warrior " counting his coups.'* 

 A young brave, with his face painted black, 

 mounted on a white horse mysteriously marked 

 with red clay, and naked to the breech-clout, hold- 

 ing in his hand a long taper lance, rode into the 

 circle, and paced slowly round it ; then, flourish- 

 ing his spear on high, he darted to the scalp-pole, 

 round which the warriors were now seated in a 

 semicircle ; and in a loud voice, and with furious 

 gesticulations, related his exploits, the drums tap- 

 ping at the conclusion of each. On his spear 

 hung seven scalps, and holding it vertically above 

 his head, and commencing with the top one, he 

 told the feats in which he had raised the trophy 

 hair. When he had run through these the drums 

 tapped loudly, and several of the old chiefs shook 

 their rattles, in corroboration of the truth of his 

 achievements. The brave, swelling with pride, 

 then pointed to the fresh and bloody scalps hang- 

 ing on the pole. Two of these had been torn from 

 the heads of Rapahos struck by liis own hand, and 

 this feat, the exploit of the day, had entitled him 

 to the honor of counting his coups. Then, stick- 

 ing his spear int-r the ground by the side of the 

 pole, he struck his hand twice on his brawny and 

 naked chest, turnea short rc-.nd, and, swift as 



