118 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
would move them about in mute eloquence, then clutch 
at the air, as if in pursuit of an enemy, and fall back 
exhausted. 
Recovering from one of these fits, he tried to stand, 
but found it impossible; he, however, raised himself 
upon his elbow, and opening his eyes for the first time 
in a long while, stared wildly about him. The sun, which’ 
was at this time low in the west, shone full upon him— 
his smooth skin glistened like burnished copper—his 
long-neglected hair, of silvery whiteness, hung over his 
head and face, while the scalp-lock displayed itself by its 
immense length, as it reached his shoulder. His muscles, 
shrunken by age and disease, moved like cords in per- 
forming their offices. 
A smile lit up his features—his lips moved—and he 
essayed to speak. A faint chant was heard—the doctor, 
at the sound, bent his head, and assumed an air of rey- 
erence. The chant, as it continued to swell on the even- 
ing breeze, reached the ears of the slumbering warriors 
that lay about, and as they listened to the sounds, I 
could discern their sottish eyes open and flash with un- 
earthly fires; sometimes exhibiting pleasure, but oftener 
ferocity and hatred. The old man sang on, a few raised 
to their feet, and waved their hands in the air, as if keep- 
ing time, and occasionally some aged Indian would re- 
peat the sounds he heard. The old man ceased, turned 
his face full to the setting sun, and fell back a corpse. 
The Indians cast a look in the direction of their 
