7

on a western reservation. Within the park a hundred Brules, in paint and feathers, were riding like demons and yelling shrilly as the pace of their ponies grew faster. But the old man on crutches, who stood alone at the gate, gave no outward sign that he was pleased or interested. He clutched a blue blanket at his breast and shook his massive head from time to time as the snow settled too thickly about his ears.

The cripple was Rain-in-the-Face, who seventeen years ago was notorious for his bloody work on the Little Big Horn, when General Custer and his gallant troopers of the Seventh fell and were scalped almost to a man. Sitting Bull, whom General Miles has called the "Red Napoleon," has been credited with having directed the movements of the Sioux on that savage day. This statement has been confirmed and denied by writers and Indians, but there has never been any doubt that Sitting Bull took an active part in the battle, even if he did not assume absolute command of the warriors. Nobody has successfully disputed the melancholy achievement of Rain-in-the-Face during the last hours of Custer's command. The savage was then a youngster, with all the characteristic cruelty of his race. He bore himself with reckless bravery during the fighting, and when the troopers were all but gone he burst upon them like a demon and fired the shot that stretched Captain Tom Custer at the feet of his father.

Scout Curley Will Be Here.

Scout Curley, a half-breed Crow, who was the only man of Custer's command to escape with his life, and who is to come to Chicago next week, saw Rain-in-the-Face in this last charge. There was but a handful of the Seventh left when Captain Custer fell, but that handful, standing close to the intrepid general, came mighty near squaring accounts before they, too, tumbled dead or wounded among the bodies of their comrades. A bullet from a carbine struck Rain-in-the-Face in the left knee, shattering the bone and hurling him out of his saddle. He fell almost squarely upon the body of Captain Custer but was quickly rescued by his people and borne away. That is why Rain-in-the-Face was walking on crutches yesterday. He will never walk again without them.

Whatever may be said about the spectacular careers of the rest of the Sioux since the wars of 1876 and of 1891, Rain-in-the-Face cannot be charged with having sought notoriety. Until the Wisconsin Central train hauled him out of St. Paul on Friday night he had never been east of the Mississippi River. The biggest town he had seen up to that day was Mandan, in North Dakota; and Mandan, as many people know, is not much larger than Freeze Out or Red Top, in Montana.

When Sitting Bull hoisted the white flag on the British line Rain-in-the-Face, along with such brainy chieftains as Gall and Grass, accepted the inevitable with commendable grace and has since lived in a quiet way at the Standing Rock agency.

Rain-in-the-Face Stabbed by His Squaw.

Just before the ghost-dancing outbreak of 1891 the old warrior was stabbed by his squaw while he lay asleep in his tepee. The woman, who no doubt had some great grievance, stole into the lodge late at night and plunged a skinning-knife into the breast of the Indian. For weeks and weeks it was thought that the thrust would accomplish what the bullet on the Little Big Horn had failed to do, but the old warrior's vitality had not left him and he recovered in time to take a lively interest in Sitting Bull's attemp to start a stampede at Standing Rock. Old Bull, hovever, was still too much of a firebrand to win favor from Rain-in-the-Face, who was quite willing to remain in his lodge with his shattered knee and knife-slashed breast. Bull went to war or was forced into war, as two stories run, and when the firing was over in the first scrimmage the doughty old chieftain and his sons lay dead in the sage brush along Grand river. But Bull and his band didn't die without making a strong fight against the Indian police who had been sent to arrest them. Shave Head, a full brother of Rain-in-the-Face, and a sergeant of police, was killed almost at the first fire, and nearly a dozen more of his companions fell out of their saddles with mortal wounds during the last stand of old Bull on this earth.

Big Send-Off for the Old Chief.

Rain-in-the-Face left Mandan, N.D., on Thursday. He was accompanied by a son of Major McLaughlin, the famous agent at Standing Rock. Before the men left the agency the Sioux gave Rain-in-the-Face a big send off. A steer was slaughtered in sight of the agency buildings, and gathered about the roasting steaks and sputtering fat, the warriors made merry until it was time for the buckboard to start for the train.

Rain-in-the-Face is wonderfully impressed with what he has seen. St. Paul upset the old man's nerves, but the roar of Chicago's streets upset him completely.

"Heap thunder," he said to his companion, and then he would crouch upon his crutches as though in momentary fear of being hit by something. The big domes of the fair and the mighty roof of manufactures building filled the old fellow with awe. He said he would visit them when "his eyes were rested and he did not see so big."

WITH HIS SAVAGE EYES

RAIN-IN-THE-FACE, THE SLAYER OF OUSTER, SEES THE WORLD'S FAIR.

He Rolls Cigarettes in a Tepee Near the Log Cabin in Front of Which Sitting Bull Was Killed and Revives Old Times with Buffalo Bill - Then He Hears the Roll Call of the Savages Who Compose the Band of Regenerate Hair Raisers and Who Answer with a "Ugh."

Over in a corner of Buffalo Bill's bit arena in Sixty-third street stood yesterday a stout man of swarthy complexion and long hair falling in rat tails over his coat collar. He wore a tight-fitting blue suit and a negligee shirt. He leaned sadly on a pair of roughly made crutches and looked wistfully at the Indians in their war paint as they whirled gleefully around the space. It was hard to picture this obese, upoetical figure as the blood-thirst chief of war paint and feathers. But so he was. Rain-in-th-Face is farther east than ever before in his checkered career. He reached Chicago at 10 o'clock yesterday morning in the company of Harry McLaughlin, son of Maj. James McLaughlin,

NOT DONE !!!

on a western reservation. Within the park a hundred Brules, in paint and feathers, were riding like demons and yelling shrilly as the pace of their ponies grew faster. But the old man on crutches, who stood alone at the gate, gave no outward sign that he was pleased or interested. He clutched a blue blanket at his breast and shook his massive head from time to time as the snow settled too thickly about his ears.

The cripple was Rain-in-the-Face, who seventeen years ago was notorious for his bloody work on the Little Big Horn, when General Custer and his gallant troopers of the Seventh fell and were scalped almost to a man. Sitting Bull, whom General Miles has called the "Red Napoleon," has been credited with having directed the movements of the Sioux on that savage day. This statement has been confirmed and denied by writers and Indians, but there has never been any doubt that Sitting Bull took an active part in the battle, even if he did not assume absolute command of the warriors. Nobody has successfully disputed the melancholy achievement of Rain-in-the-Face during the last hours of Custer's command. The savage was then a youngster, with all the characteristic cruelty of his race. He bore himself with reckless bravery during the fighting, and when the troopers were all but gone he burst upon them like a demon and fired the shot that stretched Captain Tom Custer at the feet of his father.

Scout Curley Will Be Here.

Scout Curley, a half-breed Crow, who was the only man of Custer's command to escape with his life, and who is to come to Chicago next week, saw Rain-in-the-Face in this last charge. There was but a handful of the Seventh left when Captain Custer fell, but that handful, standing close to the intrepid general, came mighty near squaring accounts before they, too, tumbled dead or wounded among the bodies of their comrades. A bullet from a carbine struck Rain-in-the-Face in the left knee, shattering the bone and hurling him out of his saddle. He fell almost squarely upon the body of Captain Custer but was quickly rescued by his people and borne away. That is why Rain-in-the-Face was walking on crutches yesterday. He will never walk again without them.

Whatever may be said about the spectacular careers of the rest of the Sioux since the wars of 1876 and of 1891, Rain-in-the-Face cannot be charged with having sought notoriety. Until the Wisconsin Central train hauled him out of St. Paul on Friday night he had never been east of the Mississippi River. The biggest town he had seen up to that day was Mandan, in North Dakota; and Mandan, as many people know, is not much larger than Freeze Out or Red Top, in Montana.

When Sitting Bull hoisted the white flag on the British line Rain-in-the-Face, along with such brainy chieftains as Gall and Grass, accepted the inevitable with commendable grace and has since lived in a quiet way at the Standing Rock agency.

Rain-in-the-Face Stabbed by His Squaw.

Just before the ghost-dancing outbreak of 1891 the old warrior was stabbed by his squaw while he lay asleep in his tepee. The woman, who no doubt had some great grievance, stole into the lodge late at night and plunged a skinning-knife into the breast of the Indian. For weeks and weeks it was thought that the thrust would accomplish what the bullet on the Little Big Horn had failed to do, but the old warrior's vitality had not left him and he recovered in time to take a lively interest in Sitting Bull's attemp to start a stampede at Standing Rock. Old Bull, hovever, was still too much of a firebrand to win favor from Rain-in-the-Face, who was quite willing to remain in his lodge with his shattered knee and knife-slashed breast. Bull went to war or was forced into war, as two stories run, and when the firing was over in the first scrimmage the doughty old chieftain and his sons lay dead in the sage brush along Grand river. But Bull and his band didn't die without making a strong fight against the Indian police who had been sent to arrest them. Shave Head, a full brother of Rain-in-the-Face, and a sergeant of police, was killed almost at the first fire, and nearly a dozen more of his companions fell out of their saddles with mortal wounds during the last stand of old Bull on this earth.

Big Send-Off for the Old Chief.

Rain-in-the-Face left Mandan, N.D., on Thursday. He was accompanied by a son of Major McLaughlin, the famous agent at Standing Rock. Before the men left the agency the Sioux gave Rain-in-the-Face a big send off. A steer was slaughtered in sight of the agency buildings, and gathered about the roasting steaks and sputtering fat, the warriors made merry until it was time for the buckboard to start for the train.

Rain-in-the-Face is wonderfully impressed with what he has seen. St. Paul upset the old man's nerves, but the roar of Chicago's streets upset him completely.

"Heap thunder," he said to his companion, and then he would crouch upon his crutches as though in momentary fear of being hit by something. The big domes of the fair and the mighty roof of manufactures building filled the old fellow with awe. He said he would visit them when "his eyes were rested and he did not see so big."

WITH HIS SAVAGE EYES

RAIN-IN-THE-FACE, THE SLAYER OF OUSTER, SEES THE WORLD'S FAIR.

He Rolls Cigarettes in a Tepee Near the Log Cabin in Front of Which Sitting Bull Was Killed and Revives Old Times with Buffalo Bill - Then He Hears the Roll Call of the Savages Who Compose the Band of Regenerate Hair Raisers and Who Answer with a "Ugh."

Over in a corner of Buffalo Bill's bit arena in Sixty-third street stood yesterday a stout man of swarthy complexion and long hair falling in rat tails over his coat collar. He wore a tight-fitting blue suit and a negligee shirt. He leaned sadly on a pair of roughly made crutches and looked wistfully at the Indians in their war paint as they whirled gleefully around the space. It was hard to picture this obese, upoetical figure as the blood-thirst chief of war paint and feathers. But so he was. Rain-in-th-Face is farther east than ever before in his checkered career. He reached Chicago at 10 o'clock yesterday morning in the company of Harry McLaughlin, son of Maj. James McLaughlin,

NOT DONE !!!