Warming with the theme, and inflating themselves with their own
eulogies, these magnanimous heroes of the trencher would start up,
advance a short distance beyond the light of the fire, and apostrophize
most vehemently their Blackfeet enemies, as though they had been within
hearing. Ruffling, and swelling, and snorting, and slapping their
breasts, and brandishing their arms, they would vociferate all their
exploits; reminding the Blackfeet how they had drenched their towns in
tears and blood; enumerate the blows they had inflicted, the warriors
they had slain, the scalps they had brought off in triumph. Then, having
said everything that could stir a man's spleen or pique his valor, they
would dare their imaginary hearers, now that the Bannacks were few
in number, to come and take their revenge--receiving no reply to
this valorous bravado, they would conclude by all kinds of sneers and
insults, deriding the Blackfeet for dastards and poltroons, that
dared not accept their challenge. Such is the kind of swaggering and
rhodomontade in which the "red men" are prone to indulge in their
vainglorious moments; for, with all their vaunted taciturnity, they are
vehemently prone at times to become eloquent about their exploits, and
to sound their own trumpet.
Having vented their valor in this fierce effervescence, the Bannack
braves gradually calmed down, lowered their crests, smoothed their
ruffled feathers, and betook themselves to sleep, without placing a
single guard over their camp; so that, had the Blackfeet taken them at
their word, but few of these braggart heroes might have survived for any
further boasting.
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