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β
[258]
β ask the Osage hunters.
βYes, plenty-over there,β reply the White men, pointing to a sandy plain, a little to the north.
The hunters start, and they are soon among the herds.
A few days serve to kill, cut up, and jerk their meat; and, having packed their skins and food, called in their scouts and ponies, they are turning towards the south, when clouds of dust arise in front of them.
Hillo! A company is riding hard and fast, and from their arms and horses the hunters know that they are White men, forty or more in number.
To fly is ruin, to resist is death.
Tents, skins, provisions, ponies must be left behind.
The Osages stand and wait for the storm to break.
When the white line arrives within a hundred yards, a halt is called, a council held.
Two Osage bucks, armed with rifles and sixshooters, ride out to meet them.
Two White men advance to greet these heralds, shake hands in sign of friendliness, and ask them to come in as guests.
The Indians slip to the ground, give up their arms and ponies, and are led to Captain IRickers, who tells them that he and his friends are citizens of Medicine Lodge, looking out for bad
1875.
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