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 [pg 102] 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 [pg 103] 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 [pg 104] 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.