212 



RECREATION. 



patch the messenger on to Fort Yates, 

 nearly 40 miles away, dashed on. 



Half a mile farther they met 

 a second policeman, whose siory 

 brought hope with it. He told 

 of Sitting Bull's arrest ; of the 

 resistance by the hostiles; of the 

 death of the old chief and the fear- 

 ful fight that ensued. Many police- 

 men were killed — how many he could 

 not say — and a number of hostiles. 

 Dispatching him also to the post, 

 the cavalry pushed on at a rapid trot, 

 with the Hotchkiss and Gatlingguns 

 ready for action at any moment. 



RATN-IN-THE-FACE. PROMINENT IN CUS- 

 TER MASSACRE. 



Halting on a high plateau over- 

 looking Sitting Bull's village about 

 2,000 yards away, they could see fig- 

 ures moving about near the houses. 

 The lieutenant in charge of the 

 Hotchkiss aimed to the right of a 

 cabin, where he saw puffs of smoke 

 coming from the brush, and fired. 

 Learning from the agency guide 

 which was Sitting Bull's house, and 

 supposing ittobethe hostiles' strong- 

 hold, he sent in another shell, which 

 struck and exploded a little to the 



right, killing two ponies. Then the 

 cavalry on the right began firing with 

 carbines. A number of figures that 

 the troops had seen lying on 

 the crest. of some low hills, 

 and whom they supposed were 

 the policemen, started to run, 

 and the situation was quickly taken 

 in. Accepting the last messenger's 

 story, they had supposed the hostiles 

 were in the village. Several more 

 shots, now directed to the uplands, 

 sent the band fleeing in all directions. 



A line of men filed out of the 

 house, and one of the guides, hearing 

 his name called, said: 



"Listen! They're calling — 'It's 

 us!' It's us!' ' 



Then these policemen lined up in 

 military fashion and two came up 

 on horseback from the valley to 

 meet the troops, carrying the ghost 

 shirt in front of them. 



The whole command returned to 

 the village, where a pathetic sight 

 met their eyes. 



The cavalry had come none too 

 soon, for, while not nearly so many 

 were killed as told by the courier, 

 yet the survivors were in a sad plight. 

 Almost out of ammunition (except- 

 ing some that would not fit the guns, 

 and that had been hurriedly given to 

 the men at the agency), nearly worn 

 out with the fight, they could have 

 illy withstood the hostiles, so much 

 stronger than their own band, had they 

 attacked the police later in the day. 



The timely arrival of the troops 

 saved the day and the ghost dancers 

 fled in wild confusion. They were 

 not pursued, and later, when the vil- 

 lage was deserted, they returned for 

 their belongings and fled to the south. 



In a log house in the village lay 

 seven policemen, four dead, two mor- 

 tally and one seriously wounded. They 

 were brave beyond words, those dying 

 Sioux; every soldier honored them. 

 They never murmured when the 

 post surgeon probed for the bullets, 

 though the pain must have been al- 

 most unbearable. They said they 

 were glad to die thus, having per- 

 formed their duty to their Govern- 

 ment and their children. 



