ness succeeded; then the Indians raised in concert their
cries of lamentation over the corpse, and among them Shaw clearly
distinguished those strange sounds resembling the word "Halleluyah,"
which together with some other accidental coincidences has given rise
to the absurd theory that the Indians are descended from the ten lost
tribes of Israel.

The Indian usage required that Henry, as well as the other relatives of
the woman, should make valuable presents, to be placed by the side of
the body at its last resting place. Leaving the Indians, he and Shaw set
out for the camp and reached it, as we have seen, by hard pushing, at
about noon. Having obtained the necessary articles, they immediately
returned. It was very late and quite dark when they again reached the
lodges. They were all placed in a deep hollow among the dreary hills.
Four of them were just visible through the gloom, but the fifth and
largest was illuminated by the ruddy blaze of a fire within, glowing
through the half-transparent covering of raw hides. There was a perfect
stillness as they approached. The lodges seemed without a tenant. Not a
living thing was stirring--there was something awful in the scene. They
rode up to the entrance of the lodge, and there was no sound but the
tramp of their horses. A squaw came out and took charge of the animals,
without speaking a word. Entering, they found the lodge crowded with
Indians; a fire was burning in the midst, and the mourners encircled
it in a triple row. Room was made for the newcomers at the head of the
lodge, a robe spread for them to sit upon, and a pipe lighted and handed
to them in perfect silence. Thus they passed the greater part of the
night. At times the fire would subside into a heap of embers, until the
dark figures seated around it were scarcely visible; then a squaw would
drop upon it a piece of buffalo-fat, and a bright flame, instantly
springing up, would reveal of a sudden the crowd of wild faces,
motionless as bronze. The silence continued unbroken. It was a relief
to Shaw when daylight returned and he could escape from this house of
mourning. He and Henry prepared to return homeward; first, however, they
placed the presents they had brought near the body of the squaw, which,
most gaudily attired, remained in a sitting posture in one of the
lodges. A fine horse was picketed not far off, destined to be killed
that morning for the service of her spirit, for the woman was lame, and
could