They overtook the retreating enemy in the
midst of a plain. A desperate fight ensued. The Crows had the advantage
of numbers, and of fighting on horseback. The greater part of the
Blackfeet were slain; the remnant took shelter in a close thicket of
willows, where the horse could not enter; whence they plied their bows
vigorously.
The Crows drew off out of bow-shot, and endeavored, by taunts and
bravadoes, to draw the warriors Out of their retreat. A few of the best
mounted among them rode apart from the rest. One of their number then
advanced alone, with that martial air and equestrian grace for which
the tribe is noted. When within an arrow's flight of the thicket, he
loosened his rein, urged his horse to full speed, threw his body on the
opposite side, so as to hang by one leg, and present no mark to the foe;
in this way he swept along in front of the thicket, launching his arrows
from under the neck of his steed. Then regaining his seat in the saddle,
he wheeled round and returned whooping and scoffing to his companions,
who received him with yells of applause.
Another and another horseman repeated this exploit; but the Blackfeet
were not to be taunted out of their safe shelter. The victors feared
to drive desperate men to extremities, so they forbore to attempt
the thicket. Toward night they gave over the attack, and returned
all-glorious with the scalps of the slain. Then came on the usual feasts
and triumphs, the scalp-dance of warriors round the ghastly trophies,
and all the other fierce revelry of barbarous warfare.
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