ort made an
imposing appearance on horseback, shouting and singing, and in the words
of Captain Lea himself and the missionary, the Reverend Mr. Cleveland,
the situation was extremely critical. Indeed, the scouts who had
followed Crazy Horse from Red Cloud agency were advised not to show
themselves, as some of the warriors had urged that they be taken out and
horsewhipped publicly.

Under these circumstances Crazy Horse again showed his masterful spirit
by holding these young men in check. He said to them in his quiet
way: "It is well to be brave in the field of battle; it is cowardly
to display bravery against one's own tribesmen. These scouts have been
compelled to do what they did; they are no better than servants of the
white officers. I came here on a peaceful errand."

The captain urged him to report at army headquarters to explain himself
and correct false rumors, and on his giving consent, furnished him with
a wagon and escort. It has been said that he went back under arrest, but
this is untrue. Indians have boasted that they had a hand in bringing
him in, but their stories are without foundation. He went of his own
accord, either suspecting no treachery or determined to defy it.

When he reached the military camp, Little Big Man walked arm-in-arm with
him, and his cousin and friend, Touch-the-Cloud, was just in advance.
After they passed the sentinel, an officer approached them and walked
on his other side. He was unarmed but for the knife which is carried for
ordinary uses by women as well as men. Unsuspectingly he walked toward
the guardhouse, when Touch-the-Cloud suddenly turned back exclaiming:
"Cousin, they will put you in prison!"

"Another white man's trick! Let me go! Let me die fighting!" cried Crazy
Horse. He stopped and tried to free himself and draw his knife, but
both arms were held fast by Little Big Man and the officer. While he
struggled thus, a soldier thrust him through with his bayonet from
behind. The wound was mortal, and he died in the course of that night,
his old father singing the death song over him and afterward carrying
away the body, which they said must not be further polluted by the touch
of a white man. They hid it somewhere in the Bad Lands, his resting
place to this day.

Thus died one of the ablest and truest American Indians. His life was
ideal; his record clean. He was never involved in any of the numerous
massacres on the trail, but was a leader in practically every op