the american indian may be considered either seriously or lightly, according to one’s inclination and opportunities. he may be taken seriously, like the irish question, by politicians and philanthropists; or lightly, as a picturesque and historic relic of the past, as one regards the beef-eaters, the tower, or the fishwives at scheveningen. there are a great many indians and a great many reservations, and some are partly civilized and others are not, and the different tribes differ in speech and manner of life as widely as in the south the clay-eater of alabama differs from a gentleman of one of the first families of virginia. any one who wishes to speak with authority on the american indian must learn much more concerning him than the names of the tribes and the agencies.

the indian will only be considered here lightly and as a picturesque figure of the west.

many years ago the people of the east took their idea of the indian from cooper’s novels and “hiawatha,” and pictured him shooting arrows into herds of buffalo, and sitting in his wigwam with many scalp-locks drying on his shield in the sun outside. but they know better than that now. travellers from the west have told them that this picture belongs to the past, and they have been taught to look upon the indian as a “problem,” and to consider him as either a national nuisance or as a much-cheated and ill-used brother. they think of him, if they think of him at all, as one who has fallen from his high estate, and who is a dirty individual hanging around agencies in a high hat and a red shirt with a whiskey-bottle under his arm, waiting a chance[153] to beg or steal. the indian i saw was not at all like this, but was still picturesque, not only in what he wore, but in what he did and said, and was full of a dignity that came up at unexpected moments, and was as suspicious or trustful as a child.

it is impossible when one sees a blanket indian walking haughtily about in his buckskin, with his face painted in many colors and with feathers in his hair, not to think that he has dressed for the occasion, or goes thus equipped because his forefathers did so, and not because he finds it comfortable. when you have seen a particular national costume only in pictures and photographs, it is always something of a surprise to find people wearing it with every-day matter-of-course ease, as though they really preferred kilts or sabots or moccasins to the gear to which we are accustomed at home. and the indians in their fantastic mixture of colors and beads and red flannel and feathers seemed so theatrical at first that i could not understand why the army officers did not look back over their shoulders when one of these young braves rode by. the first indians i saw were at fort reno, where there is an agency for the cheyennes and arapahoes. this reservation is in the oklahoma territory, but the government has bought it from the indians for a half-dollar an acre, and it is to be opened to white settlers. the country is very beautiful, and the tall grass of the prairie, which hides a pony, and shows only the red blanketed figure on his back, and over which in the clear places the little prairie-dogs scamper, and where the red buttes stand out against the sky, and show an edge as sharp and curving as the prow of a man-of-war, gives one a view of a west one seems to have visited and known intimately through the illustrated papers.

[154]i had gone to fort reno to see the beef issue which takes place there every two weeks, when the steers and the other things which make up the indian’s rations are distributed by the agent. i missed the issue by four hours, and had to push on to anadarko, where another beef issue was to come off three days later, which was trying, as i had met few men more interesting and delightful than the officers at the post-trader’s mess. but i was fortunate, in the short time in which i was at fort reno, in stumbling upon an indian council. two lieutenants and a surgeon and i had ridden over to the indian agency, and although they allow no beer on an indian reservation, the surgeon had hopes. it had been a long ride—partly through water, partly over a dusty trail—and it was hot. but if the agent had a private store for visitors, he was not in a position to offer it, for his room was crowded with chiefs of renown and high degree. they sat in a circle around his desk on the floor, or stood against the wall smoking solemnly. when they approved of what the speaker said, they grunted; and though that is the only word for it, they somehow made that form of “hear, hear,” impressive. those chiefs who spoke talked in a spitting, guttural fashion, far down the throat, and without gestures; and the son of one of them, a boy from carlisle, in a gray ready-made suit and sombrero, translated a five-minutes’ speech, which had all the dignity of salvini’s address to the senators, by: “and red wolf he says he thinks it isn’t right.” cloud-shield rose and said the chiefs were glad to see that the officers from the fort were in the room, as that meant that the indian would have fair treatment, and that the officers were always the indians’ best friends, and were respected in times of peace as friends, and in times of war as enemies. after which, the officers, considering guiltily the real object of their visit, and feeling properly abashed, took off their hats and tried to look as though they deserved it, which, as a rule, they do. it may be of interest, in view of an indian outbreak, to know that this council of the chiefs was to protest against the cutting down of the rations of the cheyennes and the arapahoes. last year it cost the government one hundred and thirteen thousand dollars to feed them, and this year commissioner martin, with a fine spirit of economy, proposes to reduce this by just one-half. this means hunger and illness, and in some cases death.

“he says,” translated the boy interpreter, gazing at the ceiling, “that they would like to speak to the people at washington about this thing, for it is not good.”

the agent traced figures over his desk with his pen.

“well, i can’t do anything,” he said, at last. “all i can do is to let the people at washington know what they say. but to send a commission all the way to washington will take a great deal of money, and the cost of it will have to come out of their allowance. tell them that. tell them i’ll write on about it. that’s all i can do.”

that night the chiefs came solemnly across parade, and said “how!” grimly to the orderly in front of the colonel’s headquarters.

“you see,” said the officers, “they have come to complain, but the colonel cannot help them. if martin wants a war, he is going just the best way in the world to get it, and then we shall have to go out and shoot them, poor devils!”

i was very sorry to leave fort reno, not only on account of the officers there, but because the ride to anadarko must be made in stages owned by a mr. williamson. this is not[158] intended as an advertisement for mr. williamson’s stages. he does not need it, for he is, so his drivers tell me, very rich indeed, and so economical that he makes them buy their own whips. every one who has travelled through the indian territory over mr. williamson’s routes wishes that sad things may happen to him; but no one, i believe, would be so wicked as to hope he may ever have to ride in one of his own stages. the stage-coach of the indian territory lacks the romance of those that dick turpin stopped, or of the deadwood coach, or of those that yuba bill drives for bret harte with four horses, with gamblers on top and road-agents at the horses’ heads. they are only low four-wheeled wagons with canvas sides and top, and each revolution of the wheels seems to loosen every stick and nail, and throws you sometimes on top of the driver, and sometimes the driver on top of you. they hold together, though, and float bravely through creeks, and spin down the side of a cañon on one wheel, and toil up the other side on two, and at such an angle that you see the sun bisected by the wagon-tongue. at night the stage seems to plunge a little more than in the day, and you spend it in trying to sleep with your legs under the back seat and your head on the one in front, while the driver, who wants to sleep and cannot, shouts profanely to his mules and very near to your ear on the other side of the canvas.

anadarko is a town of six stores, three or four frame houses, the indian agent’s store and office, and the city hotel. seven houses in the west make a city. i said i thought this was the worst hotel in the indian territory, but the officers at fort sill, who have travelled more than i, think it is the worst in the united states. it is possible that they are right. there are bluffs and bunches of timber around anadarko, but the prairie stretches towards the west, and on it is the pen from which the cattle are issued. the tepees and camp-fires sprang up overnight, and when we came out the next morning the prairie was crowded with them, and more indians were driving in every minute, with the family in the wagon and the dogs under it, as the country people in the east flock into town for the circus. the men galloped off to the cattle-pen, and the women gathered in a long line in front of the agent’s store to wait their turn for the rations. it was a curious line, with very young girls in it, very proud of the little babies in beaded knapsacks on their backs—dirty, bright-eyed babies that looked like mummies suddenly come to life again at the period of their first childhood—and wrinkled, bent old squaws, even more like mummies, with coarse white hair, and hands worn almost out of shape with work. each of these had a tag, such as those that the express companies use, on which was printed the number in each family, and the amount of grain, flour, baking-powder, and soap to which the family was entitled. they passed in at one door and in front of a long counter, and out at another. they crowded and pushed a great deal, almost as much as their fairer sisters do in front of the box-office at a patti matinée, and the babies blinked stoically at the sun, and seemed to wish they could get their arms out of the wrappings and rub away the tears. a man in a sombrero would look at the tag and call out, “one of flour, two of sugar, one soap, and one baking-powder,” and his indian assistants delved into the barrels behind the line of the counter, and emptied the rations into the squaw’s open apron. she sorted them when she reached the outside. by ten o’clock the distribution was over, and the women followed the men to the cattle-pen[162] on the prairie. there were not over three hundred indians there, although they represented several thousand others, who remained in the different camps scattered over the reservation, wherever water and timber, and bluffs to shield them best from the wind, were to be found in common. each steer is calculated to supply twenty-five indians with beef for two weeks, or from one and a half to two pounds of beef a day; this is on the supposition that the steers average from one thousand to one thousand and two hundred pounds. the steers that i saw issued weighed about five hundred pounds, and when they tried to run, stumbled with the weakness of starvation. they were nothing but hide and ribs and two horns. they were driven four at a time through a long chute, and halted at the gate at the end of it until their owner’s names were marked off the list. the indians were gathered in front of the gate in long rows, or in groups of ten or twelve, sitting easily in their saddles, and riding off leisurely in bunches of four as their names were called out, and as their cattle were started off with a parting kick into the open prairie.

the apaches, comanches, delawares, and towacomies drove their share off towards their camps; the caddoes and the kiowas, who live near the agency, and who were served last, killed theirs, if they chose to do so, as soon as they left the pen. a man in charge of the issue held a long paper in his hand, and called out, “eck-hoos-cho, pe-an-voon-it, hoos-cho, and cho-noo-chy,” which meant that red-bird, large-looking-glass, the bird, and deer-head were to have the next four steers. his assistant, an indian policeman, with “god helps them who help themselves” engraved on his brass buttons, with the figure of an indian toiling at a plough in the centre, repeated these names aloud, and designated which steer was to go to which indian.

a beef issue is not a pretty thing to watch. why the government does not serve its meat with the throats cut, as any reputable butcher would do, it is not possible to determine. it seems to prefer, on the contrary, that the indian should exhibit his disregard for the suffering of animals and his bad marksmanship at the same time. when the representatives of the more distant tribes had ridden off, chasing their beef before them, the caddoes and kiowas gathered close around the gate of the pen, with the boys in front. they were handsome, mischievous boys, with leather leggings, colored green and blue and with silver buttons down the side, and beaded buckskin shirts. they sat two on each pony, and each held his bow and arrows, and as the steers came stumbling blindly out into the open, they let the arrows drive from a distance of ten feet into the animal’s flank and neck, where they stuck quivering. then the indian boys would yell, and their fathers, who had hunted buffaloes with arrows, smiled approvingly. the arrows were not big enough to kill, they merely hurt, and the steer would rush off into a clumsy gallop for fifty yards, when its owner would raise his winchester, and make the dust spurt up around it until one bullet would reach a leg, and the steer would stop for an instant, with a desperate toss of its head, and stagger forward again on three. the dogs to the number of twenty or more were around it by this time in a snarling, leaping pack, and the owner would try again, and wound it perhaps in the flank, and it would lurch over heavily like a drunken man, shaking its head from side to side and tossing its horns at the dogs, who bit at the place where the blood[166] ran, and snapped at its legs. sometimes it would lie there for an hour, until it bled to death, or, again, it would scramble to its feet, and the dogs would start off in a panic of fear after a more helpless victim.

the field grew thick with these miniature butcheries, the winchesters cracking, and the spurts of smoke rising and drifting away, the dogs yelping, and the indians wheeling in quick circles around the steer, shooting as they rode, and hitting the mark once in every half-dozen shots. it was the most unsportsmanlike and wantonly cruel exhibition i have ever seen. a bull in a ring has a fighting chance and takes it, but these animals, who were too weak to stand, and too frightened to run, staggered about until the indians had finished torturing them, and then, with eyes rolling and blood spurting from their mouths, would pitch forward and die. and they had to be quick about it, before the squaws began cutting off the hide while the flanks were still heaving.

this is the view of a beef issue which the friend of the indian does not like to take. he prefers calling your attention to the condition of the cattle served the indian, and in showing how outrageously he is treated in this respect. the government either purchases steers for the indians a few weeks before an issue, or three or four months previous to it, feeding them meanwhile on the government reservation. the latter practice is much more satisfactory to the contractor, as it saves him the cost and care of these cattle during the winter, and the inevitable loss which must ensue in that time through illness and starvation. those i saw had been purchased in october, and had been weighed and branded at that time with the government brand. they were then allowed to roam over the government reservation[167] until the spring, when they had fallen off in weight from one-half to one-third. they were then issued at their original weight. that is, a steer which in october was found to weigh eleven hundred pounds, and which would supply twenty or more people with meat, was supposed to have kept this weight throughout the entire winter, and was issued at eleven hundred although it had not three hundred pounds of flesh on its bones. the agent is not to blame for this. this is the fault of the government, and it is quite fair to suppose that some one besides the contractor benefits by the arrangement. when the beef is issued two weeks after the contract has been made, it can and frequently is rejected by the army officer in charge of the issue if he thinks it is unfit. but the officers present at the issue that i saw were as helpless as they were indignant, for the beef had weighed the weight credited to it once when it was paid for, and the contractor had saved the expense of keeping it, and the indian received just one-fourth of the meat due him, and for which he had paid in land.

fort sill, which is a day’s journey in a stage from anadarko, is an eight-company post situated on the table-land of a hill, with other hills around it, and is, though somewhat inaccessible, as interesting and beautiful a spot to visit as many others which we cross the ocean to see. i will be able to tell why this is so when i write something later about the army posts. there are any number of indians here, and they add to the post a delightfully picturesque and foreign element. l troop of the seventh cavalry, which is an indian troop, is the nucleus around which the other indians gather. the troop is encamped at the foot of the hill on which the post stands. it shows the indian civilized by uniform, and his indian brother uncivilized in[168] his blanket and war-paint; and although i should not like to hurt the feelings of the patient, enthusiastic officers who have enlisted the indians for these different troops for which the government calls, i think the blanket indian is a much more warlike-looking and interesting individual. but you mustn’t say so, as george the third advised. the soldier indians live in regulation tents staked out in rows, and with the ground around so cleanly kept that one could play tennis on it, and immediately back of these are the conical tepees of their wives, brothers, and grandmothers; and what lieutenant scott is going to do with all these pretty young squaws and beautiful children and withered old witches, and their two or three hundred wolf-dogs, when he marches forth to war with his indian troop, is one of the questions his brother officers find much entertainment in asking.

the indian children around this encampment were the brightest spot in my entire western trip. they are the prettiest and most beautifully barbaric little children i have ever seen. they grow out of it very soon, but that is no reason why one should not make the most of it while it lasts. and they are as wild and fearful of the white visitor, unless he happens to be lieutenant scott or second lieutenant quay, as the antelope in the prairie around him. it required a corporal’s guard, two lieutenants, and three squaws to persuade one of them to stand still and be photographed, and whenever my camera and i appeared together there was a wild stampede of indian children, which no number of looking-glasses or dimes or strings of beads could allay. not that they would not take the bribes, but they would run as soon as they had snatched them. it was very distressing, for i did not mean to hurt them very much. the older people were kinder, and would let me sit inside the tepees, which were very warm on the coldest days, and watch them cook, and play their queer games, and work moccasins, and gamble at monte for brass rings if they were women, or for cartridges if they were men. and for ways that are dark and tricks that are vain, i think the indian monte-dealer can instruct a chinese poker-player in many things. what was so fine about them was their dignity, hospitality, and strict suppression of all curiosity. they always received a present as though they were doing you a favor, and you felt that you were paying tribute. this makes them difficult to deal with as soldiers. they cannot be treated as white men, and put in the guard-house for every slight offence. lieutenant scott has to explain things to them, and praise them, and excite a spirit of emulation among them by commending those publicly who have done well. for instance, they hate to lose their long hair, and lieutenant scott did not order them to have it cut, but told them it would please him if they did; and so one by one, and in bunches of three and four, they tramped up the hill to the post barber, and back again with their locks in their hands, to barter them for tobacco with the post trader. the indians at fort sill were a temperate lot, and lieutenant harris, who has charge of the canteen, growled because they did not drink enough to pay for their share of the dividend which is returned to each troop at the end of the month.

lieutenant scott obtained his ascendency over his troop in several ways—first, by climbing a face of rock, and, with the assistance of lieutenant quay, taking an eagle from the nest it had built there. every indian in the reservation knew of that nest, and had long wanted the eagle’s[172] feathers for a war-bonnet, but none of them had ever dared to climb the mirrorlike surface of the cliff, with the rocks below. the fame of this exploit spread, by what means it is hard to understand among people who have no newspapers or letters, but at beef issues, perhaps, or messiah dances, or casual meetings on the prairie, which help to build up reputations and make the prowess of one chief known to those of all the other tribes, or the beauty of an indian girl familiar. then, following this exploit, three little indian children ran away from school because they had been flogged, and tried to reach their father’s tent fifteen miles off on the reservation, and were found half-buried in the snow and frozen to death. one of them was without his heavier garments, which he had wrapped around his younger brother. the terrified school-teacher sent a message to the fort begging for two troops of cavalry to protect him from the wrath of the older indians, and the post commander sent out lieutenant scott alone to treat with them. his words were much more effective than two troops of cavalry would have been, and the threatened outbreak was stopped. the school-master fled to the woods, and never came back. what the indians saw of lieutenant scott at this crisis made them trust him for the future, and this and the robbery of the eagle’s nest explain partly, as do his gentleness and consideration, the remarkable hold he has over them. some one was trying to tell one of the chiefs how the white man could bring lightning down from the sky, and make it talk for him from one end of the country to the other.

“oh yes,” the indian said, simply, “that is quite true. lieutenant scott says so.”

but what has chiefly contributed to make the lieutenant’s[173] work easy for him is his knowledge of the sign language, with which the different tribes, though speaking different languages, can communicate one with the other. he is said to speak this more correctly and fluently than any other officer in the army, and perhaps any other white man. it is a very curious language. it is not at all like the deaf-and-dumb alphabet, which is an alphabet, and is not pretty to watch. it is just what its name implies—a language of signs. the first time i saw the lieutenant speaking it, i confess i thought, having heard of his skill at fort reno, that he was only doing it because he could do it, as young men who speak french prefer to order their american dinners in that language when the waiter can understand english quite as well as themselves. i regarded it as a pleasing weakness, and was quite sure that the lieutenant was going to meet the indian back of the canteen and say it over again in plain every-day words. in this i wronged him; but it was not until i had watched his irish sergeant converse in this silent language for two long hours with half a dozen indians of different tribes, and had seen them all laugh heartily at his witticisms delivered in semaphoric gestures, that i really believed in it. it seems that what the lieutenant said was, “tell the first sergeant that i wish to see the soldiers drill at one o’clock, and, after that, go to the store and ask madeira if there is to be a beef issue to-day.” it is very difficult to describe in writing how he did this; and as it is a really pretty thing to watch, it seems a pity to spoil it. as well as i remember it, he did something like this. he first drew his hand over his sleeve to mark the sergeant’s stripes; then he held his fingers upright in front of him, and moved them forward to signify soldiers; by holding them in still another position,[174] he represented soldiers drilling; then he made a spy-glass out of his thumb and first finger, and looked up through it at the sky—this represented the sun at one o’clock. “after that” was a quick cut in the air; the “store” was an interlacing of the fingers, to signify a place where one thing met or was exchanged for another; “madeira” he named; beef was a turning up of the fingers, to represent horns; and how he represented issue i have no idea. it is a most curious thing to watch, for they change from one sign to the other with the greatest rapidity. i always regarded it with great interest as a sort of game, and tried to guess what the different gestures might mean. some of the signs are very old, and their origin is as much in dispute as some of the lines in the first folios of shakespeare, and have nearly as many commentators. all the indians know these signs, but very few of them can tell how they came to mean what they do. “to go to war,” for instance, is shown by sweeping the right arm out with the thumb and first finger at right angles; this comes from an early custom among the indians of carrying a lighted pipe before them when going on the war-path. the thumb and finger in that position are supposed to represent the angle of the bowl of the pipe and the stem.

i visited a few of the indian schools when i was in the territory, and found the pupils quite learned. the teachers are not permitted to study the indian languages, and their charges in consequence hear nothing but english, and so pick it up the more quickly. the young women who teach them seem to labor under certain disadvantages; one of them was reading the english lesson from a united states history intended for much older children—grown-up children, in fact—and explained that she had to order and select the school-books she used from a list furnished by the government, and could form no opinion of its appropriateness until it arrived.

some of the indian parents are very proud of their children’s progress, and on beef-issue days visit the schools, and listen with great satisfaction to their children speaking in the unknown tongue. there were several in one of the school-rooms while i was there, and the teacher turned them out of their chairs to make room for us, remarking pleasantly that the indians were accustomed to sitting around on the ground. she afterwards added to this by telling us that there was no sentiment in her, and that she taught indians for the fifty dollars there was in it. the mother of one of the little boys was already crouching on the floor as we came in, or squatting on her heels, as they seem to be able to do without fatigue for any length of time. during the half-hour we were there, she never changed her position or turned her head to look at us, but kept her eyes fixed only on her son sitting on the bench above her. he was a very plump, clean, and excited little indian, with his hair cut short, and dressed in a very fine pair of trousers and jacket, and with shoes and stockings. he was very keen to show the white visitors how well he knew their talk, and read his book with a masterful shaking of the head, as though it had no terrors for him. his mother, kneeling at his side on the floor, wore a single garment, and over that a dirty blanket strapped around her waist with a beaded belt. her feet were bare, and her coarse hair hung down over her face and down her back almost to her waist in an unkempt mass. she supported her chin on one hand, and with the other hand, black and wrinkled, and with nails broken by cutting wood and harnessing horses and ploughing[178] in the fields, brushed her hair back from before her eyes, and then touched her son’s arm wistfully, as a dog tries to draw his master’s eyes, and as though he were something fragile and fine. but he paid no attention to her whatsoever; he was very much interested in the lesson. she was the only thing i saw in the school-room. i wondered if she was thinking of the days when she carried his weight on her back as she went about her cooking or foraging for wood, or swung him from a limb of a tree, and of the first leather leggings she made for him when he was able to walk, and of the necklace of elk teeth, and the arrows which he used to fire bravely at the prairie-dogs. he was a very different child now, and very far away from the doglike figure crouching by his side and gazing up patiently into his face, as if looking for something she had lost.

it is quite too presumptuous to suggest any opinion on the indian question when one has only lived with them for three weeks, but the experience of others who have lived with them for thirty years is worth repeating. you will find that the individual point of view regarding the indian is much biassed by the individual interests. a man told me that in his eyes no one under heaven was better than a white man, and if the white man had to work for his living, he could not see why the indian should not work for his. i asked him if he thought of taking up indian land in the territory when it was open in the spring, and he said that was his intention, “and why?”

the officers are the only men who have absolutely nothing to gain, make, or lose by the indians, and their point of view is accordingly the fairest, and they themselves say it would be a mistake to follow the plan now under consideration—of[179] placing officers in charge of the agencies. this would at once strip them of their present neutral position, and, as well, open to them the temptation which the control of many thousands of dollars’ worth of property entails where the recipients of this property are as helpless and ignorant as children. they rather favor raising the salary of the indian agent from two thousand to ten thousand dollars, and by so doing bring men of intelligence and probity into the service, and destroy at the same time the temptation to “make something” out of the office. it may have been merely an accident, but i did not meet with one officer in any of the army posts who did not side with the indian in his battle for his rights with the government. as for the agents, as the people say in the west, “they are not here for their health.” the indian agents of the present day are, as every one knows, political appointments, and many of them—not all—are men who at home would keep their corner grocery or liquor store, and who would flatter and be civil to every woman in the neighboring tenement who came for a pound of sugar or a pitcher of beer. these men are suddenly placed in the control of hundreds of sensitive, dangerous, semi-civilized people, whom they are as capable of understanding as a bowery boy would be of appreciating an arab of the desert.

the agents are not the only people who make mistakes. some friend mailed me a book the other day on indian reservations, in order that i might avoid writing what has already been written. i read only one page of the book, in which the author described his manner of visiting the indian encampments. he would drive to one of these in his ambulance, and upon being informed that the chiefs were waiting to receive him in their tents, would bid them[180] meet him at the next camp, to which he would drive rapidly, and there make the same proposition. he would then stop his wagon three miles away on the prairie, and wait for the chiefs to follow him to that point. what his object was in this exhibition, with which he seemed very well satisfied, he only knows. whether it was to teach the chiefs they were not masters in their own camps, or that he was a most superior person, i could not make out; but he might just as effectively have visited washington, and sent the president word he could not visit him at the white house, but that he would grant him an interview at his hotel. i wonder just how near this superior young man got to the indians, and just how wide they opened their hearts to him.

there was an indian agent once—it was not long ago, but there is no need to give dates or names, for the man is dead—who when the indians asked him to paint the wagons (with which the government furnished them through him in return for their land) red instead of green, answered that he would not pander to their absurdly barbaric tastes. only he did not say absurdly. he was a man who had his own ideas about things, and who was not to be fooled, and he was also a superior person, who preferred to trample on rather than to understand the peculiarities of his wards. so one morning this agent and his wife and children were found hacked to pieces by these wards with barbaric tastes, and the soldiers were called out, and shot many of the indians; and many white women back of the barracks, and on the line itself, are now wearing mourning, and several officers got their first bar. it would seem from this very recent incident, as well as from many others of which one hears, that it would be cheaper in the end[181] to place agents over the indians with sufficient intelligence to know just when to be firm, and when to compromise in a matter; for instance, that of painting a wagon red.