If a Pane, surely he would not have gone off without that great trophy which would have rendered him famous for life,--the scalp of the Waco chief? If a Waco, where and who was he? These questions passed from lip to lip. No one was found to answer them, but there were yet some warriors to return from the pursuit, and the inquiry was suspended, while the death-song was again chanted over the fallen chief. At length all the braves had arrived on the spot, and stood in a circle around the body. One of the warriors stepped forward to the midst, and by a signal intimated that he wished to be heard. A breathless silence followed, and the warrior began:-- "Wacoes! our hearts are sad when they should otherwise rejoice. In the midst of victory a great calamity has fallen upon us. We have lost our father,--our brother! Our great chief--he whom we all loved--has fallen. Alas! In the very hour of triumph, when his strong right hand had hewn down his enemy on the field--in that moment has he fallen! "The hearts of his warriors are sad, the hearts of his people will long be sad! "Wacoes! our chief has not fallen unrevenged. His slayer lies at his feet pierced with the deadly dart, and weltering in his blood. Who of you hath done this?" Here the speaker paused for a moment as if waiting for a reply. None was given. "Wacoes!" he continued, "our beloved chief has fallen, and our hearts are sad. But it glads them to know that his death has been avenged. There lies his slayer, still wearing his hated scalp. What brave warrior claims the trophy? Let him stop forth and take it!" Here there was another pause, but neither voice nor movement answered the challenge. The cibolero was silent with the rest. He did not comprehend what was said, as the speech was in the Waco tongue, and he understood it not. He guessed that it related to the fallen chief and his enemies, but its exact purport was unknown to him. "Brothers!" again resumed the orator, "brave men are modest and silent about their deeds. None but a brave warrior could have done this. We know that a brave warrior will avow it. Let him fear not to speak. The Wacoes will be grateful to the warrior who has avenged the death of their beloved chief." Still the silence was unbroken, except by the voice of the orator. "Brother warriors!" he continued, raising his voice and speaking in an earnest tone, "I have said that the Wacoes will be grateful for this deed. I have a proposal to make. Hear me!" All signified assent by gestures. "It is our custom," continued the speaker, "to elect our chief from the braves of our tribe. I propose that we elect him _now_ and _here_-- here! on the red field where his predecessor has fallen. _I propose for our chief the warrior who has done this deed_!" And the orator pointed to the fallen Pane. "_My_ voice for the brave who has avenged our chief!" cried one. "And mine!" shouted another.