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I stood with his father and brother at the head of his grave. Bull Head, lieutenant of the Indian police, went to Sitting Bull's house with a warrant for his arrest. Hostiles they were called. Bull Head shot Sitting Bull in the heart. Sitting Bull shot Bull Head in the thigh as he fell. How could the wound kill him there? I ran without sleeping until my feet tore with bruises. I ran 80 miles. [Among Sitting Bull's belongings were letters from Mrs. Weldon of New York warning him to leave the agency because the government was planning to kill him: Flee the agency flee they will kill you they will kill they will hit you with bullets the impastoned are here carrying their pallet knives they will take your moccasins and clothes for relics they will scalp they will saw each hair from your head.]
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