We knew, now that poor Forsyth’s body had been properly

colors and decorated with strips of red flannel, red blankets and gay

war-bonnets, their appearance presented a scene of picturesque

barbarism, fascinating but repulsive. As they numbered about six

hundred, the chances of whipping them did not seem overwhelmingly in

our favor, yet Nesmith and I concluded we would give them a little

fight, provided we could engage them without going beyond the ridge.

But all our efforts were in vain, for as we advanced they retreated,

and as we drew back they reappeared and renewed their parade and