himself, and for one good long hour shone down through scattering clouds—the first fair look we had had at his face for ten dreary days. Since our departure from Furey and the wagon-train, it had rained twenty-two days, most of the storms being of phenomenal severity, and it would need a very strong mind not to cherish the delusion that the elements were in league with the red men to preserve the hunting lands of their fathers from the grasp of the rapacious whites. When the supplies arrived the great aim of every one seemed to be to carry out the old command: "Eat, drink, and be merry, for to-morrow ye die." The busy hum of cheerful conversation succeeded to the querulous discontent of the past week, and laughter raised the spirits of the most tired and despondent; we had won the race and saved the Black Hills with their thousands of unprotected citizens, four hundred of whom had been murdered since the summer began. The first preacher venturing out to Deadwood paid the penalty of his rashness with his life, and yielded his scalp to the Cheyennes. It was the most ordinary thing in the world to have it reported that one, or two, or three bodies more were to be found in such and such a gulch; they were buried by people in no desire to remain near the scene of horror, and as the Hills were filling up with restless spirits from all corners of the world, and no one knew his neighbor, it is doubtful if all the murdered ones were ever reported to the proper authorities. When the whites succeeded in killing an Indian, which happened at extremely rare intervals, Deadwood would go crazy with delight; the skull and scalp were paraded and sold at public auction to the highest bidder.
