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“You have shot my ponies, you may now shoot me.”

Without a word, his cousin drew a pistol, faced the intending raider, and shot him through the heart. He fell without a groan, and instantly expired; on which the broken band covered up his face with dust, and then resumed their march, utterly broken and impoverished by their holy war.

Red Cloud, like Brigham, is elected to his office by the acclamation of his people; like Brigham he may be deposed by popular vote; but while he keeps his throne, he reigns by grace of God and is divinely aided to fulfil his task. The Indian legend runs, that when the tribe, divine in origin, assemble for a pow-wow, every one is touched and led by an invisible and unfallible guide. “Let us have Red Cloud for our chief;” a warrior cries, on which the bucks and braves all raise their wild yep, yep. This chorus is the call of heaven. So too, when the Saints are gathered in their church, divine in origin, each Saint is assumed to be fired and guided by the Holy Ghost. “Let us have brother Brigham for our prophet, seer, and revelator,” cries some elder, and the crowd of male and female Saints respond-Amen!

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