This, I think, was the first time the chief clearly understood the attitude of the government toward him. Another day marks the beginning of the decline of my people.
I remember well the coming of that messenger. I was awakened by the sound of a horse’s feet, and, looking out of the tepee, I saw a small man on a big horse—bigger than any I had ever seen before. Warriors were surrounding him, asking, “Who are you?”
“Take me to The Sitting Bull,” he said, and just then the chief looked from his lodge and said, “Bring him to me.”
He was brought and set before The Sitting Bull, and they looked at each other for a time in silence. I was peering in under the side of the lodge and could not see the chief’s face, but the stranger smiled and said: “Are The Sitting Bull’s eyes getting dim that he does not know his old playmate?”
“The Badger,” replied the chief. Then he smiled and they shook hands. “You are changed, my friend; you were but a boy when we played at hunting in The Cave Hills.”
“That is true,” replied the man, who was a French half-breed. “I do not blame you for looking at me with blind eyes. I would not have known you. I have a message for you.”
“Bring food for our brother,” commanded the chief, and after The Badger had eaten the chief said, “Now tell me whence you come and why are you here?”
“That is a long tale,” said The Badger. “It is a story you must think about.”
And so for three days The Badger sat before the chief and they talked. And each night the camp muttered gravely, discussing the same question. The chief’s face grew sterner each day. He smoked long and there were times when his eyes rested on the ground in a silence of deep thought while The Badger told of the mighty white man—of his wonderful deeds, of his armies, of his iron horses, of all these things which we afterward saw for ourselves. He went farther. He told us of the white man’s government which was lodged in a great village made of wood and stone. He said the white men were more numerous than the buffalo and that their horses were plenty as prairie dogs. “You do well, my friend, not to go to war against these people. They are all-conquering. What can you do against magicians who create guns and knives and powder?”