Upon the broad prairie the two prisoners were given their freedom. They were told to run, and when a few paces away the Chippewa warriors fired, and the Sioux fell dead. Then followed a hideous scene which a spectator described many years later. "The bodies, all warm and limp, are dragged to the brow of the hill. Men who at the sight of blood, become almost fiends, tear off the reeking scalps and hand them to the chief, who hangs them around his neck. Women and children with tomahawks and knives cut deep gashes in the poor dead bodies, and scooping up the hot blood with their hands, eagerly drink it; then, grown frantic, they dance, and yell, and sing their horrid scalp songs, recounting deeds of valor on the part of their brave men, and telling off the Sioux scalps, taken in different battles, until tired and satiated at last with their horrid feast, they leave the mutilated bodies--festering in the sun."[326] At evening the bodies were thrown over the cliff into the river below. On the morning of the thirty-first the Sioux delivered up to the Chippewas two others who, they claimed, had been the principal men in the affair. If the Chippewas did not shoot them, they said, they would do it themselves, as trouble had come to their nation on their account. But the Chippewas were willing. About this second execution there has grown up an interesting story. One of the offenders, Toopunkah Zeze, was a favorite among the children of the fort. Tall and handsome and athletic and brave, he was the ideal of Indian manhood. The other, called the Split Upper Lip, was well known as a thief, and was as much detested as his companion was respected. He cried and begged for his life, saying that his gun had missed fire--he had killed no one. The other calmly distributed his clothes among his friends, upbraiding his companion for his cowardice. "You lie, dog. Coward, old woman, you know that you lie. You know that you are as guilty as I am. Hold your peace and die like a man--die like me." The two were brought out upon the prairie. Again the thirty yards were allowed; again the Chippewa guns were fired. For once it seemed that this Indian punishment of "running the gantlet" would lose a victim. For Toopunkah Zeze was still running. The bullet had cut the rope that bound him to his falling companion. With new hope he leaped forward. There was a shout of triumph from a group of Sioux hidden in the bushes; and the children of the fort, who had climbed upon the buildings to view the bloody scene from afar, clapped their hands. But the Chippewas were cool in their vengeance. Guns were reloaded and deliberate aim taken. The flints struck, and Toopunkah Zeze, now a hundred and fifty yards away and a second's distance from a place where the straggling groves of the prairie offered life, fell dead. Two more bodies were thrown over the precipice into the river.[327]