lf, particularly
the two who had killed the Englishmen's driver.

He succeeded in bringing in twelve Indians in all, among them the
murderers of the driver. They, with Lone Wolf and Satank, were sent to
the Dry Tortugas for life. The morning they started on their journey
Satank talked very feelingly to Kicking Bird, with tears in his eyes.
He said that they might look for his bones along the road, for he would
never go to Florida. The savages were loaded into government wagons.
Satank was inside of one with a soldier on each side of him, their
legs hanging outside. Somehow the crafty villain managed to slip the
handcuffs off his wrists, at the same instant seizing the rifle of one
of his guards, and then shoved the two men out with his feet. He tried
to work the lever of the rifle, but could not move it, and one of the
soldiers, coming around the wagon to where he was still trying to get
the gun so as he could use it, shot him down, and then threw his body on
the Trail. Thus Satank made good his vow that he would never be taken to
Florida. He met his death only a mile from the post.

After the departure of the condemned savages, the feeling in the tribe
against Kicking Bird increased to an alarming extent. Several times
the most incensed warriors tried to kill him by shooting at him from
an ambush. After he became fully aware that his life was in danger, he
never left his lodge without his carbine. He was as brave as a lion,
fearing none of the members of Lone Wolf's band; but he often said it
was only a question of a short time when he would be gotten rid of; he
did not allow the matter, however, to worry him in the least, saying
that he was conscious he had done his duty by his tribe and the Great
Father.

In a bend of Cash Creek, about half a mile below the mill, about half
a dozen of the Kiowas had their lodges, that of their chief being among
them. At ten o'clock one Monday in June, 1876, Mr. Haworth, the agent,
came in haste to the shops, called the master mechanic, Mr. Wykes, out,
told him to jump into the carriage quickly; that Kicking Bird was dead.

When they arrived at the home of the great chief, sure enough he was
dead, and some of the women were engaged in folding his body in robes.
Other squaws were cutting themselves in a terrible manner, as is their
custom when a relative dies, and were also breaking everything breakable
about the lodge. Kicking Bird had always been scrupulously clean and
neat in th