The Fifth Cavalry, on the warpath itself, would stop at nothing.

It was dark when we entered the reservation.

All about us we could see the huddling forms of Indians--thousands of them--enough, in fact, to have consummated another Custer massacre.

But they showed no disposition to fight.
While at the Agency I learned that the Indian I had killed in the morning was none other than Yellow Hand, a son of old Cut Nose, who was a leading chief of the Cheyennes.

The old man learned from the members of Yellow Hand's party that I had killed his son, and sent a white interpreter to me offering four mules in exchange for the young chief's war-bonnet.