s found that five lives were to be paid
for in kind. A council of Chippewas decided that the five selected
from the prisoners should run the gauntlet, and it was approved. And
now, back over the lapse of many years I pass, and seem to be a child
again, standing beside my only brother, at the back door of my
father's house. The day is beautiful; the sun is so bright; the grass
so green, all nature so smiling, it is hard to realize what is going
on over yonder, by the graveyard, in that crowd of men and women; for
there are gathered together the Chippewas, old and young men, women
and children, who have come out to witness or take part in this act of
retributive justice. There are blue coats, too, and various badges of
our U. S. uniform; for it is necessary to hold some restraint over
these red men, or there may be wholesale murder; and borne on the
shoulders of his young men, we see the form of the wounded, dying
chief, regarding all with calm satisfaction, and no doubt happy in the
thought that his death, now so near, will not go unavenged. And there
stand the young braves who have been selected as the executioners;
their rifles are loaded, the locks carefully examined, and all is
ready when the word shall be given. There, too, under guard, are the
five doomed men, who are to pay the forfeit for the five lives so
wantonly and treacherously taken.

Away off, I can not tell how many rods, but it seemed to us children a
long _run_, are stationed the Sioux tribe; and that is the goal for
which the wretched men must run for their lives.

And now, all seems ready; the bolts and chains are knocked off, and
the captives are set free. At a word, one of them starts; the rifles,
with unerring aim, are fired, and under cover of the smoke a man falls
dead. They reload; the word is given, and another starts, with a
bound, for _home_; but, ah! the aim of those clear-sighted,
blood-thirsty men is too deadly; and so, one after another, till four
are down.

And then the last, "Little Six", whom, at a distance, we children
readily recognize from his commanding height and graceful form; he is
our friend, and we hope he will get _home_. He starts; they fire; the
smoke clears away, and still he is running. We clap our hands and say,
"He will get home!" but, another volley, and our favorite, almost at
the goal, springs into the air and comes down--dead! I cover my face,
and shed tears of real sorrow for our friend.

And now follows a sce