But the commotion was very great when they arrived. The squaws were screaming and chattering, and one, the widow of the deceased warrior, was sitting beside his corpse on the grass, her head entirely enveloped in her blanket, rocking herself to and fro, and now and then emitting a wail of grief which seemed quite as genuine and intense as those which bereavement everywhere elicits in the world of civilization. There was a lad of apparently eighteen or nineteen years, and two olive-skinned girls of about twelve and fourteen, children of the slain man, who hovered about the mother, and who, although they gave way now and then to passionate cries of grief, seemed chiefly bent on comforting her. The son, indeed, mingled his words of consolation to his remaining parent with the promise that on the morrow she should herself see her husband’s murderer immolated beneath the clubs of their people, or burned at the glowing pile. But in this he was doubtless influenced more by his education than by the promptings of his nature, for he was mild and placid in demeanor, and as yet no baleful look of hatred or revenge gleamed in his dark eyes. Buffalo Bill and Captain Meinhold gathered some encouragement from these appearances, but they soon learned from Running Water that there was no ground for hope. Even if the wife and children of the slain man should prove lenient, he had a brother and father, who would both be implacable, and indeed most of the small band could claim some affinity to the deceased, and had a right to insist on their revenge. The council sat in the evening. It was short, and its decision was unanimous, not even Running Water raising his voice in behalf of the man who had so grossly wronged his people. Hare was condemned to death, with the privilege of running the gantlet if he chose and taking the slight chance of escape which it offered him. In other words, he was to be burned at the stake in the first place, or he was to run for his life between two files of men and women--composing all the tribe--armed with clubs, who were to stand facing each other, and were to strike at him as he went past. No firearms or knives were to be used upon him, and if he passed unharmed through the files, he was to have his liberty; but if he were knocked down or disabled, he was to be taken at once to the stake and burned. “How much chance of escape did this process offer?” Cody inquired of the chief, though he knew well how little it offered. When made to comprehend the question, Running Water replied in substance that a strong, active warrior, who was accustomed to ruses and feints, who could dodge, and dive, and leap like a fox, and who could stand up under heavy blows, might possibly get through safely. There would be one chance in ten for him. “But how would it be with the present prisoner?” the border king inquired, again. “What was his chance?”