This ain't no war-dance nor any other ceremonious splurge; it's a informal merrymakin', innocent an' free, same as is usual with us at the Wolfville dance hall.

Shore, Osages, lacks guitars an' fiddles, an' thar's no barkeep nor nosepaint--none, in trooth, of the fav'rable adjuncts wherewith we makes a evenin' in Hamilton's hurdygurdy a season of social elevation, an' yet they pulls off their fandangoes with a heap of verve, an' I've no doubt they shore enjoys themse'fs.
"For two hours before sundown the kettle-tenders is howlin' an' callin' the dance throughout the Osage camp.

Thar's to be a full moon, an' the dance--the _Ingraska_ it is; a dance the Osages buys from the Poncas for eight ponies--is to come off in a big, high-board corral called the 'Round House.' "Followin' the first yell of the kettle-tenders, the young bucks begins to paint up for the hilarity.

You might see 'em all over camp, for it's August weather an' the walls of the tents an' teepees is looped up to let in the cool, daubin' the ocher on their faces an' braidin' the feathers into their ha'r.

This organisin' for a _baile_ ain't no bagatelle, an' two hours is the least wherein any se'f-respectin' buck who's out to make a centre shot on the admiration of the squaws an' wake the envy of rival bucks, can lay on the pigments, so he paints away at his face, careful an' acc'rate, sizin' up results meanwhile in a jimcrow lookin' glass.