Old Bull Snake, or Snake Bull’s, Indian name is Ear-Ous-Sah-Chee-dups,
which means male snake. Years ago when far from camp he was bitten by a
rattlesnake. The only companion with him did all within his power to save
his friend. The death stupor was coming on, and his companion hurried to
the camp with the tidings. His relations rushed to the rescue. He
finally recovered and has ever since been called Bull Snake. It is a
fitting appellation for this grizzled warrior of sixty-eight years. The
bow and arrow became the plaything of his boyhood days. With it he sought
the lair of wild things and shot with glee the buffalo calf; his final
strength winging the arrow through the heart of the buffalo bull. Then
came the days of the war trail, eager, savage days—days when the hated foe
was pursued on foot and the warpath was followed for very love of war.
This passion for war led him to the camp of General Crook, where he was
assigned the task of trailing the hostile Sioux. The further story of
Bull Snake is best told in his own words:
“At that time I must have been about twenty-three years old. We moved
down to the Little Rosebud. I was the first of the scouts to discover the
Sioux who were approaching us. After I reported, I mounted my horse and
in company with two other scouts went over to locate the Sioux. We found
ten Sioux and began to fight. My companions with both of their horses
were killed. Then the battle of the Little Rosebud began. The Sioux and
Cheyennes were all circling about us. General Crook sent for me. The
entire command was surrounded. I thought it was my last day. I asked to
be allowed to make a dash for a weak point in the line, his soldiers to
follow. I did this and we broke through. Crook right flanked the enemy
and won the day. In the counter attack two other Crows were on the ridge
with me fighting. I raised my coup stick to strike a Sioux and he shot
me, hitting my horse and we fell together. I found that I was badly
wounded and could not stand up. I raised up as far as I could and fired
three shots at the Sioux. There the battle ended.”
War worn, halting on one foot, this savior of Crook’s entire command
presents a pitiful remnant of Indian valour. Speech more pathetic never
came from the lips of any man: “The greatest thing to me is the education
of my children. Since I was wounded, about thirty-six years ago, I have
been thinking over my life. My leg has been weak and my heart has been
sorry. I feel that I have suffered because I have followed my Great
Father’s order. I am glad I fought for the soldiers, for I think it was
the right thing to do. Because of my wounded leg I am not able to work;
sometimes I nearly starve, and yet I feel that I did the right thing.
Will you be kind enough to see that I get my pension? I need it!” Be kind
enough? Let the Government make answer in gratitude to the sagacious
bravery of a red man bearing through life his daily burden of pain and the
greater suffering of an unrequited heart who gloriously met the test of
sacrifice.
[Mountain Chief]