At last the music peals forth.

The music confines itse'f to a bass drum--paleface drum it is--which is staked out hor'zontal about a foot high from the grass over in the centre.

The orchestra is a decrepit buck with a rag-wropped stick; with this weepon he beats the drum, chantin' at the same time a pensive refrain.
"Mebby a half-dozen squaws, with no papooses yet to distract 'em, camps 'round this virchuoso with the rag-stick, an' yoonites their girlish howls with his.

You-all can put down a bet it don't remind you none of nightingales or mockin' birds; but the Injuns likes it.

Which their simple sperits wallows in said warblin's! But to my notion they're more calc'lated to loco a henhawk than furnish inspiration for a dance.
"'Tunk! tunk! tunk! tunk!' goes this rag-stick buck, while the squaws chorus along with, 'Hy-yah! hy-yah! hy-yah-yah-yah! Hy-yah! hy-yah! hy-yah-yah-yah!' an' all grievous, an' make no mistake! "At the first 'tunk!' the bucks stiffen to their feet and cast off the blankets.