at at that time fluttered high above the parapet of every
Government fort as an emblem of protection to all that were struggling
on and on over that vast expanse of unbroken and treeless plain; can
you wonder then that the unspeakable crimes and mistakes of the
Government of those days still rankle in the breast of every living
man and woman that in any way participated in the settlement of the
West? If you do, look on the painting of the terrible annihilation of
the gallant Custer and his five companies of the Seventh U. S.
Cavalry with the old chief, Sitting Bull, and his band of Sioux
Indians on the Big Horn River, June 25, 1876, from which not a man
escaped to tell the tale, and you may form some conception of the
hardships, suffering, and cruelties inflicted on the early pioneer. It
was left for the resourceful Remington to vividly portray life and
scenes of those days, perpetuating their memory on canvas and bronze
for all time. The name of Frederick Remington should not only go down
in history as the greatest living artist of those scenes, but his bust
in bronze should be given a place in the Hall of Fame as a tribute to
his life and a recognition of his great worth.

CHAPTER III

AN ATTACK BY THE INDIANS

[Illustration: O] O'Fallow's Bluffs was the most dismal spot on the
entire trail. Its high walls of earth and over-hanging, jagged rocks,
with openings to the rolling plain beyond, made it an ideal point for
the sneaking, cowardly savages to attack the weary pilgrims and
freighters. The very atmosphere seemed to produce a feeling of gloom
and approaching disaster. The emigrants had been repeatedly instructed
by the commander at Fort Carney to corral with one of the trains. Many
of the bullwhackers were desperate men, so that the poor pilgrims were
in danger from two sources, and very seldom camped near either corral.
Our consort was a day's drive in the rear. That evening the emigrants
camped about a half mile in advance of our train. It was at this
point, when unyoking our oxen at evening that a large band sneaked
over the bluffs for the purpose, as we supposed, of stampeding our
cattle. They did not take us unawares, however, for we never turned
cattle from corral until the assistant wagon boss surveyed the
locality in every direction with a field glass, for the tricky redskin
might be over the next sand hill.

[Illustration: INDIANS ATTACKING CORRAL]

Fifty good men could whip five times their