The last great
struggle for the occupation of the frontier was on. It involved
the ownership of the last of our open lands; and hence may be
called the war of our last frontier.
The settler who pushed West continued to be the man who shared
his time between his rifle and his plough. The numerous buffalo
were butchered with an endless avidity by the men who now
appeared upon the range. As the great herds regularly migrated
southward with each winter's snows, they were met by the settlers
along the lower railway lines and in a brutal commerce were
killed in thousands and in millions. The Indians saw this sudden
and appalling shrinkage of their means of livelihood. It meant
death to them. To their minds, especially when they thought we
feared them, there was but one answer to all this--the whites
must all be killed.
Red Cloud, Crazy Horse, Roman Nose, American Horse, Black
Kettle--these were names of great Indian generals who proved
their ability to fight. At times they brought into the open
country, which as yet remained unoccupied by the great pastoral
movement from the south, as many as five thousand mounted
warriors in one body, and they were well armed and well supplied
with ammunition.
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