As he called the roll of the gray old defenders, the old women broke into heart-piercing wailing, intermingled with exultant cries as some brave wife or sister caught the force of the heroic responses, which leaped from the lips of their fathers and husbands. A feeling of awe fell over the young men as they watched the fires flame once more in the dim eyes of their grandsires, and when all had spoken, Lone Wolf rose and stepped forth, and said,
“Very well; then I will lead you.”
“Whosoever leads us goes to certain death,” said White Buffalo. “It is the custom of the white men to kill the leader. You will fall at the first fire. I will lead.”
Lone Wolf’s face grew stern. “Am I not your war chief? Whose place is it to lead? If I die, I fall in combat for my land, and you, my children, will preserve my name in song. We do not know how this will end, but it is better to end in battle than to have our lands cut in half beneath our feet.”
The bustle and preparation began at once. When all was ready the thirty gray and withered old men, beginning a low humming song, swept through the camp and started on their desperate charge, Lone Wolf leading them. “Some of those who go will return, but if the white men fight, I will not return,” he sang, as they began to climb the hill on whose top the white man could be seen awaiting their coming.
Halfway up the hill they met some of the young warriors. “Go bring all the white men to the council,” said Lone Wolf.
As the white men watched the band leaving the village and beginning to ascend the hill, Speed turned and said: “Well, Jack, what do you think of it? Here comes a war party—painted and armed.”
“I think it’s about an even chance whether we ever cross the Washita again or not. Now, you are a married man with children, and I wouldn’t blame you if you pulled out right this minute.”
“I feel meaner about this than anything I ever did,” replied Speed, “but I am going to stay with the expedition.”
As Lone Wolf and his heroic old guard drew near, Seger thrilled with the significance of this strange and solemn company of old men in full war-paint, armed with all kinds of old-fashioned guns, and bows and arrows. As he looked into their wrinkled faces, the scout perceived that these grandsires had come resolved to die. He divined what had taken place in camp. Their exalted heroism was written in the somber droop of their lips. “We can die, but we will not retreat!” In such wise our grandsires fought.