Our hands and
our feet are torn by the sharp rocks, and our trail is marked by our blood.
At last I see a rift in the rocks. A little way beyond there are green
prairies. The swift-running water, the Niobrara, pours down between the
green hills. There are the graves of my fathers. There again we will pitch
our teepee and build our fires. I see the light of the world and of liberty
just ahead.'
"The old chief became silent again, and, after an appreciable pause, he
turned toward the judge with such a look of pathos and suffering on his
face that none who saw it will forget it, and said:--
"'But in the center of the path there stands a man. Behind him I see
soldiers in number like the leaves of the trees. If that man gives me the
permission, I may pass on to life and liberty. If he refuses, I must go
back and sink beneath the flood.'
"Then, in a lower tone, 'You are that man.'
"There was silence in the court as the old chief sat down. Tears ran down
over the judge's face. General Crook leaned forward and covered his face
with his hands. Some of the ladies sobbed.
"All at once that audience, by one common impulse, rose to its feet, and
such a shout went up as was never heard in a Nebraska court-room.
Pages:
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400