“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say fer sartin, but I think thar wur nigh onto a thousand uv ’em hit.”
“How many did you kill?”
“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say; but gi’me a dead rest, I kin hit a dollar at fifty yards every time, and I fired with a dead rest at more’n fifty of them varmints inside of fifty yards.”
“For Heaven’s sake, how many times did you fire?” exclaimed the astonished General.
“Wall, Gin’r’ll, I can’t say, but I kept eight guns pretty well het up for more’n three hours.”
On this occasion Powell received his third brevet for heroism and distinguished conduct on the field.
The next fall a new treaty was made with the Indians, and the post which had been the scene alike of heartbreaking disaster and defeat and of triumph unprecedented, was abandoned to them. The troops were withdrawn. The Indians at once burned it to the ground. It was never reoccupied, and to-day is remembered simply because of its association with the first and, with one exception, the most notable of our Indian defeats in the west, and with the most remarkable and overwhelming victory that was ever won by soldiers over their gallant red foemen on the same ground.
At this writing (September, 1903) the once mighty Red Cloud, now in his eighty-ninth year, is nearing his end, and already various claimants for the now practically empty honor of the Head-Chieftainship of the Sioux have arisen, the two most prominent candidates being young Red Cloud and the son of old Sitting Bull.
Note
Since the first publication of this article I have received the following letter, which, as it tends to confirm what seems incredible, the terrible Indian loss, I quote in full: