"TWO GHOSTS I SAW"
Before us is a great flat plain blackened by fire, and with the grass still burning. Away in the distance, in the shimmer of the air waves, are figures.
“Maybe so dey Sioux,” says Wolf-Voice. And we gallop towards them.
“What will you do if they are?” I ask.
“Stand ’em off,” replies the war-dog.
Half an hour’s ride showed them to be some of our Cheyennes. All about the plain were strewn the remains of dead cattle (heads and horns, half-butchered carcasses, and withal a rather impressive smell), coyotes, and ravens—all very like war. These Brulés must have lived well. There were lodge poles, old fires, and a series of rifle pits across the neck of land which the Sioux had proposed to defend; medicine poles, and near them the sacrifices, among which was food dedicated to the Great Spirit, but eventually consumed by the less exalted members of Casey’s command. I vandalized a stone pipe and a rawhide stirrup.
The less curious members of our band had gone south, and Wolf-Voice and I rode along together. We discussed war, and I remember two of Wolf-Voice’s opinions. Speaking of infantry and their method of fighting, he said:
“Dese walk-a-heap soldiers dey dig hole—get in—shoot heap—Injun can’t do nothin’ wid ’em—can’t kill ’em—can’t do nothin’ but jes go ’way.”
Then, explaining why the Sioux had shown bad generalship in selecting their position, he turned in his saddle, and said, “De big guns he knock ’em rifle pit, den de calavy lun pas’ in column—Injun no stop calavy—kill ’em heap, but no stop ’em—den de walk-a-heap dey come too, and de Sioux dey go ober de bluffs.” And with wild enthusiasm he added, “De Sioux dey go to hell!” That prospect seemed to delight Mr. Wolf-Voice immensely.