Three other women followed, two of them
in the same blanket.
"Are there any more bucks?" roared the sergeant, in Sioux.
"No more alive," said the old squaw, in the same tongue.
"Keep your rifle on the hole between the rocks; watch these people; I
will go up," directed the sergeant, as he slowly mounted to the ledge,
and with levelled six-shooter peered slowly over. He stepped in and
stood looking down on the dead warriors.
A yelling in broken English smote the startled sergeant. "Tro up your
hands, you d---- Injun! I'll blow the top off you!" came through the
quiet. The sergeant sprang down to see the Swede standing with carbine
levelled at a young buck confronting him with a drawn knife in his
hands, while his blanket lay back on the snow.
"He's a buck--he ain't no squaw; he tried to creep on me with a knife.
I'm going to kill him," shouted the excited Bordeson.
"No, no, don't kill him. Otto, don't you kill him," expostulated
Johnson, as the Swede's finger clutched nervously at the trigger, and
turning, he roared, "Throw away that knife, you d------Indian!"
The detachment now came charging in through the snow, and gathered
around excitedly. A late arrival came up, breathing heavily, dropped his
gun, and springing up and down, yelled, "Be jabbers, I have got among om
at last!" A general laugh went up, and the circle of men broke into a
straggling line for the return. The sergeant took the little girl up in
his arms.
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