Sid watched him, fascinated. He was seeing the original Sun Dance, the Indian symbol of death and resurrection, as it was before later changes degraded it into a meaningless exhibition of endurance under torture--about on the level with our own bull-ring and prize-fight arena. How long the dance would keep up depended solely upon Honanta’s physical endurance. He was not much over forty years of age, so he would be yet in his prime, and his fervor would lead him to dance before the Great Mystery until his sinews could work no longer. Sid’s prayers went out to aid him. He liked to see a man give his best! This humbling of the body was nothing repulsive, when one thought of the exalted mood of that soul, engaged in an act of Indian worship so far above our own milder and, let us say, more self-indulgent and vanity-ridden forms of ritual. An hour passed; two hours, while still the devoted Honanta maintained the peculiar syncopated rhythmic dance of the Indian. Occasionally his voice rose in a wild, high chant, relating the story of his rescue by that white officer of long ago. He called on the soul of his mother to witness; poured out prayers in thankful chants to the Great Mystery. Sid watched, himself entirely in sympathy, the whole band of Apaches gradually working themselves to higher and higher exaltation of religious feeling. He hardly noted the passage of time until a glance over to the west wall brought home to him with a sudden shock that the shadow of the east wall had nearly reached that crack in the granite. His time was coming soon! Others had noticed it, too, for one of the elders spoke a word. With a final invocation to the Great Mystery, Honanta slowly brought his dance to a close. He tottered toward Sid, his eyes sightless, his hand groping until it gripped Sid’s. Sid felt a renewed fervor in that grip, but all Honanta said was: “My son, guide me--for you must now go forth from us.” One of the braves pressed Sid’s rifle into his hands. Leading Honanta, Sid started for the medicine lodge. Young bucks and elders surrounded them. They were fully armed and their faces expressed the grim determination of the executioner. Sid guided Honanta to the outlet of the tunnel and himself raised the medicine sheepskin. “Careful, my father!” he warned courteously, putting Honanta’s hands on the ladder post. They descended, the tunnel filled with creeping warriors, ahead and behind them. Sid could not see what chance there was for his life in this! To whirl and shoot the instant his foot left the cave?--before he could move, a flight of arrows would feather themselves in him! If Honanta had a loophole in mind it must be provided soon!