Sixty-eight years is a long time to be an Indian. Within this span of life Pretty Voice Eagle has run with swift feet the warpath, and held with strong hand the battle spear. Bearing well his weight of years and his heavier burden of struggle, he moves erect and with lithe footstep. He became stormy and vociferous as he told his story of broken treaties, how the Indian had been wronged by the white man, and how his life had been scarred by the storms of life. Then the calm of old age came over him and the placid joy of childhood memories when asked to tell a folklore tale. While relating his battle experiences we had the equinoctial gale of Indian life and then the mellow haze of Indian summer. Recalling his boyhood days, Pretty Voice Eagle told me that his tribe roamed along the river, chiefly the Missouri River. There were then no white people in that country. "I was about ten years old when I saw large boats bringing white people over the Missouri River. I saw a great many of the white people killed by the Sioux when they came up the river in small boats. It was not until I was about twenty years old that they began to build the railroad along the Platte River going west, and there were also emigrant wagons going west driving large herds of cattle. The Indians killed the white people as they came up the river because we felt they were driving away our game; they had guns and powder and knives, which we did not have. We also wanted what they had in the boats, and we did not like to see them go through our country. When I first saw the people emigrating through our country and then bringing iron horses there I began to be afraid. I was about twenty-five or thirty years old when they began to run the iron horse along through the country, and I also heard that they were going to move the Indians to some hot country, and that the white people would fill up all the land north and west and south of us; we felt that we ought to fight the white people, and we began to kill the men who were building the railroad. The white people began to kill the game when they came into the country. There was then plenty of buffalo on the east side of the Missouri River; soon they swam over to the west side, and we then understood that the President had given them the privilege of killing all the game, and soon the buffalo were all gone. The white man then went into the Black Hills, and killed the game. The killing of the game caused a change in our food. We were accustomed to eating buffalo meat and other wild game; we loved that and we were all full of health as long as we had it. The change of food has compelled us to eat bread instead of wild meat, and that is the reason why the Indians are all dying off. When I think of those old days my heart is full of sorrow. My father, who was then the chief, was sent for by the President of the United States, and when he came back he said that the Indians must adopt the white man's mode of living, and that we must send our children to school. The news that my father brought was received by some with favour, others entirely refused to send their children to school, and said that they would rather fight than let their children go to school. And it looked as though there would be a general uprising. I remember the first group who went off to school, and it caused great trouble. From that time on we had trouble with the United States soldiers. While we were carrying this trouble about the schools in our minds, there was an emigrant train going through the Black Hills. They had with them a cow which was lame, and and they left it. The Indians thought they had thrown it away, and killed it. We killed this cow not for subsistence but because it was lame and we felt sorry for it. It was not until a year later that the people who owned this cow made application to the Government for reimbursement for the loss, and the Government sent United States soldiers there to find out who had killed the cow. The two men who had killed the cow were Face Powder and Pointed Forehead. They asked us to give up these men that they might take them to Fort Laramie, and we refused to give them up. They then asked our head chief, Axe-the-Bear, to give them up, and when he would not do so he was taken to Fort Laramie. Part of the Sioux Nation was at Fort Laramie, and they wanted to know why the soldiers had taken this head chief there. It was a mistake of the interpreter, for he told the officers in command that the Sioux Indians were there to kill the soldiers if they did not give up this head chief. One of the soldiers rather than let the chief go ran him through with a bayonet and killed him in cold blood. As soon as they killed this chief, the Indians began to fight right there.