On a slight elevation in a western town across which the gusty wind was sweeping, sat a stolid, glum-looking Indian, slowly writing his autograph on slips of paper and handing them out to the amused persons in front of him. The thrifty red man charged a dollar and a half for each signature, and was doing a thriving business. Not the ghost of a smile lit up the wrinkled, iron countenance, though now and then he grunted, which might have meant pleasure over his profits, or possibly disgust that he had not charged a higher tariff. He never made any mistake against himself in changing the bills passed over to him. A plump, military man of short, stocky build, in civilian suit, with big mustaches, and looking for fun in everything, bought one of his autographs. A glance at the round pleasing face showed that he was General Philip H. Sheridan, while the man standing on his left, with close-cropped sandy beard, and smoking a black cigar, was a still more famous American. General Sheridan studied the awkward signature for a minute or two, and then turning to his friend at his elbow, who was doing the same with his autograph, said: "Grant, I'll be hanged if the old fraud doesn't write a better hand than you." General Grant turned his bit of paper over several times, held it away and then quite close to his face, as though interested only in the scrawl, then removed his cigar and with a shadowy smile, replied to his old comrade: "I don't see that _you've_ any cause for boasting, Sheridan." The little group that were listening to the couple laughed, for Grant, Sherman and Sheridan never came together without chaffing one another. Besides the illustrious heroes named, there were Carl Schurz, W. M. Evarts, fully a score of United States Senators and Congressmen, and several British noblemen, as well as German professors, railway magnates and journalists. This is a reproduction of one of the aboriginal autographs: [Illustration] You will have no difficulty in reading the signature, which is that of a Sioux "medicine man," who, a few years ago was perhaps the most notable of his race. Sitting Bull was born in Dakota, in 1837. He inherited a deep hatred of the white people, and the tribe to which he belonged is to-day the most powerful on this continent. It can put five thousand bucks or more in the field, and every one of them would prove himself a sturdy fighter. A bloody outbreak of the Sioux in Minnesota took place in the summer of 1862. We were in the throes of our Civil War at that time. The crimes of the Indians were of the most horrible nature, but the military force sent thither, together with the volunteers steadily drove the hostiles to the wall and captured a large number. Thirty-seven of the leaders were tried by a military commission and found guilty of such fearful outrages that they were hanged.