So they left us. We were now less than half of our former strength, but we faced the north winds with brave hearts—even the women sang to cheer our way.
We were near the Missouri when Miles, the white chief, suddenly threw himself in our way and demanded a council.
A battle would have been very unequal at this time, for our warriors were few and our women and children many; therefore, The Sitting Bull and five chiefs went forth to meet Miles and his aides.
Perhaps you have read the white man’s side of this. I will tell you of the red man’s part, for my father rode beside our chief at this time.
Colonel Miles had over four hundred men and a cannon. His men were all armed perfectly, while we had less than a thousand men and boys, and many of even the men had no guns at all. We were burdened with the women and children, too.
Six white men met The Sitting Bull and his five braves. My father was one of these men and he told me what took place.
The chief rode forward slowly, and as he neared the white chief he greeted him quietly, then lifted his hands to the sky in a prayer to the Great Spirit. “Pity me, teach me. Give me wise words,” he whispered.
“Which of you is The Sitting Bull?” asked Colonel Miles.
“I am,” replied the chief.