There were no squaws or children along; it makes no difference whether women are white or red, they always lose some of their belongings wherever they go, and there was none of such property at this camp.
The ponies had been tied to the bushes and not allowed to graze, showing that the party had not expected to camp here, but had simply taken shelter from the rain to avoid the discomfort of traveling with wet buckskin moccasins and leggings. I learned later that it was a large band of Kiowas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes, under their famous chief, Crazy Horse, going north to join commands with Sitting Bull, in Montana...
Charles H. Sternberg, The Life of a Fossil Hunter
Charles H. Sternberg, The Life of a Fossil Hunter
This guy on his first fossil hunt crosses the path of Crazy Horse on his way to Little Big Horn less than an hour after they went through. It's almost like something out Indiana Jones.
No comments:
Post a Comment