ably accustomed to these nocturnal demonstrations, the warrior, in his lodge, gave no heed to the noise without.

The bank of the stream towards the village was low, while opposite, it was bold and precipitous. A find belt of timber grew immediately upon its borders. The limped waters of the Washita acted as a defence on the one side, while a range of low hills encircled the valley on the other. The lodges of the village were visible, only as so many dark cone like objects. In their midst was the lodge of the famous chief Black Kettle. As the evidence of rank, his lodge was black and ornamented, on the exterior, in the highest style of Indian art. The stores of the village, the herds and all that appertained to Indian affluence were gathered around.

The welcome moment of action had arrived. Several hours of comfortless delay and deep suspense had quickened the eagerness of the troops to dash into battle. Hardly had the first rays of the approaching day shot up into the heavens, than the solitudes of the Washita were rent by the clarion tones of sounding bugles, the shouts of the troops, and the clamor of charging squadrons. The regimental band from an eminence near the field, joined in the din of battle to the tune of "Garry Owen." From all sides the trooper, led by his proper officer, hastened to the vortex of the fray.

This sudden confusion without, fell upon the ears of the slumbering warriors as their death knell. The attack was simultaneous. The first shout, the heavy tramping of horses, and clanking of sabres inspired all with life. The charging squadfons came galloping madly from all directions upon the fated village. Black Kettle broke from his bed of robes, and in an instant appeared without his lodge. He had heard the tramping of the horses on the snow. He looked around him, and witnessing the frensied columns, fired his rifle and gave one wild whoop. Each warrior springing up as if by magic, seized his rifle and responded to the yell of despair which broke from the lips of the chief. Some of the warriors fled to the river

and began fighting, at the same time standing waist deep in the water; others took to a ravine near by. The squaws fled towards the high hills south of the village. It was as the centre column was charging down the precipitous bluffs to cross the river, and take the village, that Hamilton was killed. Barnitz fell seriously wounded while charging with Elliott's column up the river. As the fight became general, each man picked his antagonist. It was after this mode of fighting had commenced that Elliott, with the sergeant-major of the regiment, and a handful of men started down the river after several fugitives.

In the ravines and underbrush, the warriors took up a position and kept up a deadly fire. The women and children, inspired with the courage of warriors, took up arms and attempted to drive back the angry wave. Amid the fire and smoke of the burning lodges, the crack of the rifle, the whistling of bullets, the whirring of arrows, the wild whoop of the warrior, and the mournful wail of the women, the conflict raged for several hours. To lend additional fierceness to the scene, from the lodges at intervals, the detonations of exploding gun powder could be heard above the general confusion and spreading destruction in every direction.

A number of squaws also participated in the fight, and were seen firing with all the energy and precision of warriors. During the engagement Colonel Benteen made an effort to capture the son of Black Kettle. The young warrior in response, fired several times at the Colonel at but a few yards distant. Having killed the Colonel's horse, the young warrior made a rush at the prostrate officer, but was arrested in his murderous design by being summarily dispatched.

Prior to the fight, one of the Osages was in mourning for the murder of his squaw some months before by a party of Cheyennes. Every night and morning he kept up his wail of grief. When the fight began, while all his companions were covered with war paint, and presented more the appearance of so many devils, rather than human beings, the mourning warrior sat

mumbling over his grief in solemn strains. He was not painted. As soon as the conflict began in earnest, an Osage warrior, having shot a Cheyenne, rushed upon his fallen foe, and in an instant with his knife severed the head from the body. With a wild whoop, he took the ghastly object to the mourning warrior and threw it before him. The warrior seized the trunkless head and in an instant had the scalp. His "bowl of blood" was full. As if by magic the face of the sorrowing warrior was bedaubed with war-paint. Starting to his feet he gave one yell, and waving the propitiatory scalp in the air, cast his woes aside and disappeared in the thickest of the fray. A few moments after, the same warrior was seen standing over the lifeless form of a Cheyenne warrior. He had discovered the murderer of his squaw. Stooping, knife in hand, he was about to take the scalp, when he discovered it was gone. Such an expres. sion of fiendish disappointment was probably never exceeded. Frantically gesticulating, he fell upon the body with the ferocity of a beast of prey, and severed the throat from ear to ear. Again he stood erect, his whole frame quivering with rage. Once more he fell upon the lifeless form. Completely severing the head from the trunk, he took his knife between his teeth, clutched the gory object in both hands, and raising it high above him, dashed it upon the ground at his feet with a convulsive imprecation.

After the fight had commenced, a party of Osages discovered the squaws trying to escape. They immediately started in pursuit and seizing switches, gave the fugitives a severe whipping and drove them back. After this exercise of authority, the squaws became exceedingly submissive and made no farther efforts to get away. In return they set up a howl, which was answered from the warriors. Hitherto they had shouted defiance. When they found their families were in possession of the troops, their yells were changed to mourning and they seemed to realize that the star of Black Kettle's band of the Cheyennes had set.

It would be impossible to enumerate the acts of heroism,

hair-breadth escapes, and hand to hand encounters, had in the conflict with Black Kettle's warriors. Each savage resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible. Each officer and trooper knew, with him, it was victory or torture and certain death.

During the excitement of the fight the continued absence of Elliot and his party was not observed. Firing was heard in the direction he had taken, but supposed to be Indians signaling. When the conflict with Black Kettle's warriors lulled, the question ran along the line, "where is Elliot? where is Elliot?" No one answered. He had last been seen disappearing over the "divide."

The alarm carried by the fugitives, whom Elliott and his men were pursuing, aroused the warriors of the villages which were situated on the same stream lower down. The fight with Black Kettle's warriors had not ended when a large party of Kiowas and Arrapahoes, under Satanta and Little Raven, came to the assistance of the Cheyennes. This display of force from so unexpected a quarter was a surprise to the troopers and solved at once the fate of Elliott. There was now no doubt that he and his party had struck the approaching Kiowas and Arrapahoes, coming to the rescue of the Cheyennes, and had been cut off by them. There is no question that each man of this illfated band parted with his life as dearly as possible, and died at his post. For these unfortunate men, there was no possibility of escape. Their alternative was death by some friendly bullet, or death by the horrible torture which the hellish ingenuity of the savage alone can invent.

The reinforcements from the other villages opened their attack with considerable vigor. In order to keep them at bay, while the troopers were still engaged with Black Kettle, Weir was detached to oppose them. The savages fought with unexampled bravery, in hopes of succoring those of their allies still surviving the fight, but without success, They could not withstand the discipline and bravery of the troopers. Under the supreme impulse of self-preservation, the hostile reinforcements fled, to save themselves, their families, and their possessions from the

inevitable doom of the Cheyeunes. The detachment of cavalry pursued the retreating Kiowas and Arrapahoes as far as prudence, and the necessity of co-operating with the rest of the troops, would admit.

The victory was complete. One band of the most powerful and relentless of the hostile tribes had been destroyed. The captures were immense. Two white children were released from a fearful bondage. A white woman and a boy, ten years of age, held captive, were killed by the savages when the fight commenced. In the midst of the conflict, the bullets falling around in a perfect shower, a squaw, with demoniac fury, knife in hand, as if looking for an object upon which to revenge the loss of the day, fell upon an innocent captive child, and, with one terrible gash, completely disemboweled it—the warm, smoking entrails falling upon the snow.

Three days had now elapsed since leaving the train. The display of strength made by the Indians, caused a natural anxiety in regard to the safety of the supplies and the inadequate force left to protect them. These considerations fixed the resolution of Custer to hasten back to his wagons.

While all that was left of Black Kettle's village was being destroyed, seven hundred ponies, belonging to the late chief and his warriors, were shot. Two hundred were taken for the captive squaws and children, or brought in as trophies of the victory.

On the return march, no Indians were seen. They were, evidently, in great alarm at the just and terrible punishment meted out to the Cheyennes. Night and morning the captives set up their mourning songs, but received no response from lurking warriors.

At the first camp on the return, according to custom, the Osages hung their scalps outside their tents and fired several volleys over them. All the savages have a superstition that such demonstrations of hostility drive away the spirits of those from whom the scalps were taken, and that, in the event of the neglect of so important a precaution, these spirits would