30
FLYING MOCCASINS
Ho! Big medicine! Ho! Strong medicine!Silver scales of the Big Sea Snake!
Ho! Ho!
Medicine Man to the Assembled Tribe:
Conversation-ally in amatter-of-facttone.
Go to thy wigwams, my people. Already the morning star is high. Sleep with untroubled hearts.
Come tomorrow to the dancing-ring; The doctors will then dance the Thanks-Song. Bring presents—Ho!—and plenty grub!
Medicine Man to a Fellow Medicine Man:
Ugh! Lame-Wolf! . . . Tobacco! . . . Ugh! . . . I spit on your red-willow tobacco!Brusquely It has no teeth! It is for squaws! Give me your white man's tobacco— The black stick with the stuck-on silver dog!. . .
Ho!
