There were words of hate and suppressed cries everywhere.

A circle was forming, it widened, and it seemed as though the dreaded dance was about to begin in spite of the command of the old chief.
Suddenly a form in white stood beside Umatilla.

It was Gretchen.

A white arm was raised, and the martial strain of the "Wild Hunt of Lutzow" marched out like invisible horsemen, and caused every Indian to listen.
Then there were a few sharp, discordant strains, and then the _Traumerei_ lifted its spirit-wings of music on the air.
[Music: Tranmerei.
BY ROBERT SCHUMANN, SIMPLIFIED BY F.BRANDEIS.] [Music] [Music] The murmurs ceased.

The plain grew still.