On the very spot, I heard the story 
of the tragic Indian fight by one who 
claimed to have been an eye-witness. 
Every place where each member of 
that heroic band fell, doing his duty, is 
marked by a small marble monument, 
and as I looked over the battle ground 
and saw these symbols of beating hearts, 
long still in death, clustered in twos 
and threes and a dozen where each had 
made the last stand, every pillar seemed 
to become a shadowy soldier ; the whole 
awful shame of the massacre swept over 
me, and I was glad to head my horse ab- 
ruptly for home. And then there were 
other things to think about, things 
more intimate and real. No sooner 
did the Great Goer’s nose point in the 
direction of his stable than he gave a 
great bound, as though a bee had stung 
him; then he lowered his head, laid 
back his ears, and — gallopped home. 
esata 57 8 
