had not the hair of a warrior--I will not dance
such a scalp."

The Fire Eater looked around him and saw the warriors hacking and using
their knives, but the enemy had been wiped out. Horses lay kicking and
struggling, or sat on their haunches like dogs with the blood pouring
from their nostrils. He smiled at the triumph of his race, mounted his
pony and with his reeking war-ax moved through the terrible scene. The
hacking and scalping was woman's work--anyone could count a _coup_ here.
As for the Fire Eater, his lodge was full of trophies, won in single
combat. Slowly he made his way down the line of horror until he came to
the end--to the place where the last soldier lay dead, and he passed
on to a neighboring hill to view the scene. As he stood looking, he
happened to cast his eyes on the ground and there saw a footprint. It
was the track of a white man's moccasin with the iron nails showing, and
it was going away from the scene of action. Turning his pony he trotted
along beside the trail. Over the little hills it ran through the sage
brush. Looking ahead, the Fire Eater saw a figure in a red blanket
moving rapidly away. Putting his pony to speed he bore down upon the
man with his rifle cocked. The figure increased its gait, and the red
blanket fell from the shoulders revealing a blue soldier. It was but an
instant before the pony-drew up alongside and the white man stood still,
breathing heavily. The Fire Eater saw that his enemy had no gun, the
thought of which made him laugh: "A naked warrior; a man without even a
knife; does the man with the iron moccasins hope to outrun my war-pony?"

The breathless and terrified white man held out his hand and spoke
excitedly, but the Fire Eater could not understand. With menacing
rifle he advanced upon his prey, whereat the white man, suspecting his
purpose, quickly picked up a loose stone and threw it at him but only
hit the pony.

The Fire Eater straightway shot the soldier in the thigh and the latter
sat down in the dirt. The old chief got off his horse, chuckling while
he advanced, and sat down a few yards from the stricken man. He talked
to him, saying: "Brother, I have you now. You are about to die. Look
upon the land for the last time. You came into my country to kill me,
but it is you who are to be killed."

The white soldier could not make out the intention of the Indian for the
language was mild and the face not particularly satanic. He pleaded for
his life, bu