Trooper Tales — page 114: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

102 ed Brennan of the Seventh. pressed upward that day. Still persons claim to be above that curiosity which is morbid. The vanguard rode upon the summit of the hill and looked down. For a moment all that could be heard was the droning of the myriad insect wings. ‘Then to the ears of the rear troopers was borne the murmur of curses deep and dread- ful. From every bush arrows had whizzed down upon that plain. From behind every rock and tree a crouching Sioux had glared through the smoke of powder. Squads _ of painted, yelling, exultant fiends had ridden down every passable place on the hills—yesterday. And when the braves had left no horse or horseman standing, young bucks trampled the white faces into the earth and fired into the prone bodies. And when their voices were hoarse and broken, and their demon desires satiated, the hideous, mumbling squaws, more inhuman than any in venomous hate, had stripped the suits of army blue from the boys no longer in Uncle Sam’s service. Then, in hellish ecstasy, they used their knives. Meanwhile the braves wrapped up their dead in blankets and tied them in the branches of larger trees. Not until the sunset land was growing dim did the red men face toward it and disappear. They were very happy. Reno’s cavalrymen looked down. Great, black birds rose and hovered over the plain. The sky above the hills was dotted with others—coming. Dad Evans will never forget that day. Not a vestige of individuality remained with the dead GOmMmiGcsdooks (S@)