Trooper Tales — page 115: what you’re looking at

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

Red Brennan of the Seventh. 103 upon the plain. There was not a scalp—not a form left intact, save two. So diabolical was the work that it seemed as if the devil in a black humor had directed it. Dad Evans told things that would not do here. In the centre of the plain they found a prone body that had not been stripped or mutilated. The broad yellow stripe of a cavalry officer was upon the trousers. An of- ficer’s blouse covered the face. The Sioux warriors had crossed the sleeves as a sign that the body should be spared. The blouse was lifted and then the men saw the bold, lean face of their commanding officer. The cheek was pressed down, and the long, light brown curls clus- tered about it. Not a hair was touched, not a weapon taken. The Sioux braves feared the living Yellow Hair. They revered him dead. It was a moment of delicate mystery. Thus it was that his own men found Custer, the soldier from Michigan. And not long afterward a little Mich- igan town was shrouded in crepe. The black draperies have been lifted these many years, but its sable shadow still rests in the hearts of the people. - Not a scalp was left save two. There was another. “Don’t touch him!’ It was a squaw’s voice. She was wounded, crazed, dying. She raised her body on one hand and fought off Reno’s cavalrymen. Below her was another body with sleeves crossed. It was all that re- mained of Red Brennan, deserter, and the dying squaw, Kate Poison-Water, was fighting for it. Side by side almost lay the commanding officer and EOmMIiGdooks.co