"Soon afterward, an Indian mounted on a cream-colored pony, and holding in his hand an eagle's wing, which did duty for a fan, spurred in back of the chiefs and stared stolidly for a minute or two at me. His hair, parted in the ordinary Sioux fashion, was without a plume. His broad face and wide jaws were destitute of paint, and as he sat there on his horse, regarding me with a look which seemed blended of curiosity and insolence, I did not need to be told that he was Sitting Bull.
"'That is old Bull himself,' said the major. 'He will hear everything, but will say nothing until he feels called upon to agitate something with the tribe?
"After a little, the noted savage dismounted, and led his horse partly into the shade. I noticed he was an inch or two over the medium height, broadly built, rather bow-legged, I thought, and he limped slightly, as though from an old wound. He sat upon the ground, and was soon engirdled by a crowd of young warriors, with whom he was an especial favorite, as representing the unquenchable hostility of the aboriginal savage to the hated palefaces.
"I amused myself on July 31 by accompanying the major to a bluff immediately overlooking the Sioux camp, and from which a complete view of the numbers and surroundings of that great horde of savages could be obtained. I thought there were, at the lowest calculation, from one thousand to eleven hundred lodges in that encampment. There must have been twenty-five hundred fighting men, at the least, in the confederated tribes. Arms and ammunition were plentiful, but food of any kind was scarce. The Indians did not seem to trouble themselves about concealing their strength; on the contrary, they seemed to glory in it, and the young warriors wore an air of haughty hostility whenever I came near them. Their leaders, however, treated me respectfully. Sitting Bull only stared at me occasionally, but was not rude, as was often his habit when brought in contact with people he supposed to be Americans, whom he hated with inconceivable rancor. He said to Larrabee, the interpreter: 'That man (meaning me) is from the other side. I want nothing to do with the Americans. They do not treat me well. They cheat me when I trade. They have my country now. Let them keep it. I never seek anybody. Least of all do I seek any Americans."
"This rather nettled me, for I had made not the slightest attempt to speak to Mr. Bull, and, in fact, did not care much to interview him, as he had been long ago pumped dry about his hatred of our people, and that was about his chief stock-in-trade, although I am not going to deny that he had some great mysterious power over the Sioux, and especially over his own tribe of Uncpapas. He was, in fact, their beau-ideal of implacable hostility to the paleface, and he shouted at the United States, from the safe recesses of the Queen's dominions, 'No surrender!'
"'Tell Sitting Bull,' I said to Larrabee, 'that if he does not seek me, neither do I him. I am not going to beg him to speak to me.'
"The interpreter laughed and said: 'It is just as well not to take any notice. He may be in better humor by-and-by.'
"Many of the high-minded and most of the vicious men among the Indians of the Northwest found their leader in Sitting Bull, who, although often unpopular with his fellow-chiefs, was always potent for evil with the wild and restless spirits who believed that war against the whites was, or ought to be, the chief object of their existence. This was about the true status of the Indian agitator in those days. He had strong personal magnetism. His judgment was said to be superior to his courage, and his cunning superior to both. He had not, like Crazy Horse, the reputation of being recklessly brave, but neither was he reputed a dastard. Sitting Bull was simply prudent and would not throw away his life, so long as he had any chance of doing injury to the Americans.
"It is true that the wily savage was to all intents and purposes, a British subject, but his influence crossed the line, and no settlers would venture on Milk River until the implacable savage was thoroughly whipped and humbled. I don't care what any one says about Sitting Bull not having been a warrior. If he had not the sword, he had at least the magic sway of a Mohammed over the rude war tribes that engirdled him. Everybody talks of Sitting Bull, and, whether he be a figure-head or an idea or an incomprehensible mystery, his old-time influence was undoubted. His very name was potent. He was the Rhoderick Dhu of his wild and warlike race, and when he fell the Sioux Confederation fell with him. The agitator was then verging on fifty, but hardly looked it.
"Mrs. Allen, wife of the post trader, said Sitting Bull was the nicest Indian around the trading-post, always treating her with the most marked consideration, and never intruding upon the privacy of the household, by hanging around at meal time, as some of the others did. In the hostile camp I had several opportunities of studying his face, and I can say honestly that 'Old Sit' has a fine aboriginal countenance, and, once seen, he can never be forgotten. I heard his voice many times—deep guttural, but, at the same time, melodious. He called my friend, Walsh, 'meejure,' his nearest approach to the pronunciation of 'major.' In manner he was dignified but not stiff, and when in good humor, which occurred pretty often, he laughed with the ease of a schoolboy. The traditional idea of white people that Indians never laugh, is but a time-honored absurdity. Among themselves they are often gayly boisterous, and I know of no people who can enjoy what they consider a good joke better.