The camp was not entirely empty.

Right in the center of an Indian camp I rode up to a poor helpless old squaw. ... She laid on a few ragged robes, and suddenly closed her eyes as if expecting a bullet but not wanting to see it come. She seemed rather disappointed when instead of shooting her I refilled her water-bottle. She made signs that she had been forsaken by her people, and wanted to die, and from a couple of shots heard ten minutes later as I followed the trail down the creek, one of our wild Bannack scouts acceded to her wishes and put her out of her misery.

John W. Redington scout



The Nez Perce Flight to Canada - An Introduction

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