"Egah--lelah washatah," yelled the sergeant.
Two rifle-shots rang and reverberated down the canon; two more replied
instantly from the soldiers. One Indian sunk, and his carbine went
clanging down the rocks, burying itself in the snow. Another warrior
rose slightly, took aim, but Johnson's six-shooter cracked again, and
the Indian settled slowly down without firing. A squaw moved slowly in
the half-light to where the buck lay. Bordeson drew a bead with his
carbine.
"Don't shoot the woman, Otto. Keep that hole covered; the place is alive
with Indians;" and both lay still.
A buck rose quickly, looked at the sergeant, and dropped back. The
latter could see that he had him located, for he slowly poked his rifle
up without showing his head. Johnson rolled swiftly to one side, aiming
with his deadly revolver. Up popped the Indian's head, crack went the
six-shooter; the head turned slowly, leaving the top exposed. Crack
again went the alert gun of the soldier, the ball striking the head just
below the scalp-lock and instantly jerking the body into a kneeling
position.
Then all was quiet in the gloomy woods.
After a time the sergeant addressed his voice to the lonely place in
Sioux, telling the women to come out and surrender--to leave the bucks,
etc.
An old squaw rose sharply to her feet, slapped her breast, shouted
"Lelah washatah," and gathering up a little girl and a bundle, she
strode forward to the soldiers.
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