The sun had no sooner gone down in the crimson cloud-seas among the mountains, than the moon, like another sun, broad and glorious, lifted its arch in the distant blue of the serene horizon.
The Indians gathered on the glimmering plain in the early shadows of evening, besmeared with yellow ochre and war-paint.

Every head was plumed.
There was a savagery in their looks that had not been seen before.
The wild dancers began their motions.

The Spirit or _Tamanous_ dance awakened a frenzy, and all were now impatient for the dance of the Evil Spirits to begin.
The moon hung low over the plateau and the river.

The fires were kindled, and the smoke presently gave a clouded gold color to the air.
The biters were out, running hither and thither after their manner, and filling the air with hideous cries.
All was expectation, when the old chief of the Cascades stepped upon the platform, and said: "Listen, my children--listen, O sons of the warriors of old.

Twice four times sixty seasons, according to the notch-sticks, have the wings of wild geese cleaved the sky, and all these years I have lived in peace.