In Cozuboy Land. 431 



to tell me one story which I had long wished to hear from 

 his lips, having already heard of it through one of the 

 other survivors of the incident. When he found that I 

 already knew a good deal old Woody told me the rest. 



It was in the spring of 1875, and Woody and two 

 friends were trapping on the Yellowstone. The Sioux 

 were very bad at the time and had killed many prospec- 

 tors, hunters, cowboys, and settlers ; the whites retaliated 

 whenever they got a chance, but, as always in Indian war- 

 fare, the sly, lurking, bloodthirsty savages inflicted much 

 more loss than they suffered. 



The three men, having a dozen horses with them, 

 were camped by the river-side in a triangular patch of 

 brush, shaped a good deal like a common flat-iron. On 

 reaching camp they started to put out their traps ; and 

 when he came back in the evening Woody informed his 

 companions that he had seen a great deal of Indian sign, 

 and that he believed there were Sioux in the neig^hbor- 

 hood. His companions both laughed at him, assuring 

 him that they were not Sioux at all but friendly Crows, 

 and that they would be in camp next morning ; " and sure 

 enough," said Woody, meditatively, "they were in camp 

 next morning." By dawn one of the men went down the 

 river to look at some of the traps, while Woody started 

 out to where the horses were, the third man remaining in 

 camp to get breakfast. Suddenly two shots were heard 

 down the river, and in another moment a mounted Indian 

 swept towards the horses. Woody fired, but missed him, 

 and he drove off five while Woody, running forward, 

 succeeded in herding the other seven into camp. Hardly 



