. The dead medicine-man was laid between
the white and red camps, that all might see he could be killed like
other people; and this wholesome discovery brought the Crows to terms at
once. Pretty Eagle had displayed a flag of truce, and now he surrendered
the guilty chiefs whose hearts had been bad. Every one came where the
dead prophet lay to get a look at him. For a space of hours Pretty Eagle
and the many other Crows he had deceived rode by in single file,
striking him with their whips; after them came a young squaw, and she
also lashed the upturned face.

This night was untroubled at the agency, and both camps and the valley
lay quiet in the peaceful dark. Only Pounded Meat, alone on the top of a
hill, mourned for his son; and his wailing voice sounded through the
silence until the new day came. Then the general had him stopped and
brought in, for it might be that the old man's noise would unsettle the
Crows again.

SPECIMEN JONES

Ephraim, the proprietor of Twenty Mile, had wasted his day in burying a
man. He did not know the man. He had found him, or what the Apaches had
left of him, sprawled among some charred sticks just outside the Canon
del Oro. It was a useful discovery in its way, for otherwise Ephraim
might have gone on hunting his strayed horses near the canon, and ended
among charred sticks himself. Very likely the Indians were far away by
this time, but he returned to Twenty Mile with the man tied to his
saddle, and his pony nervously snorting. And now the day was done, and
the man lay in the earth, and they had even built a fence round him; for
the hole was pretty shallow, and coyotes have a way of smelling this
sort of thing a long way off when they are hungry, and the man was not
in a coffin. They were always short of coffins in Arizona.

Day was done at Twenty Mile, and the customary activity prevailed inside
that flat-roofed cube of mud. Sounds of singing, shooting, dancing, and
Mexican tunes on the concertina came out of the windows hand in hand, to
widen and die among the hills. A limber, pretty boy, who might be
nineteen, was dancing energetically, while a grave old gentleman, with
tobacco running down his beard, pointed a pistol at the boy's heels,
and shot a hole in the earth now and then to show that the weapon was
really loaded. Everybody was quite used to all of this--excepting the
boy. He was an Eastern new-comer, passing his first evening at a place
of entertainment.

Night in