In spite of suffering, privation and thefts of every description, the Red Cloud tribe kept their faith. Would that white men had been as faithful to their treaty promises. They complained to the Great Father that they had been moved eight times since 1863. Exclaimed Red Cloud: “How can you expect us to take the white man’s road when you move us before we have time to plant and grow corn, to clear the ground and raise cattle?” In 1874 the Red Cloud and Spotted Tail reservations were in Western Nebraska, the nearest railroad point being Sidney, on the Union Pacific. Except in spots the land was barren—absolutely worthless. Red Cloud said that the Whites gave it to his people because they could not use it themselves. A delegation of Indians went to Washington, were talked to in the usual patronizing manner, flattered, promised, and returned to their agency. Some one suggested to the Commissioner of Indian Affairs to remove the Indians to the Missouri River, where some good soil assured corn and wheat. Red Cloud and Spotted Tail begged that they be not sent there, for whisky was brought up the river and sold to their young men, to the injury of the entire tribe. Being assured that their supplies had all been sent to the old Ponca reservation, they consented to go there provided they would be sent to a new reservation in the spring. [Illustration: THE HIDE HUNTER’S WORK. 40,000 BUFFALO HIDES AT DODGE CITY, KANSAS, 1876 Drawn from a print owned by R. M. Wright. ] I can best describe what ensued by use of Mrs. Helen Hunt Jackson’s words:[31] “In the spring no orders came for the removal. March passed, April passed—no orders. The chiefs sent word to their friend, General Crook, who replied to them with messages sent by swift runner, begging them not to break away, but to wait a little longer. Finally, in May, the Commissioner of Indian Affairs went himself to hold a council with them. When he rose to speak, Chief Spotted Tail sprang up, walked toward him, waving in his hand the paper containing the promise of the Government to return them to White Clay creek, and exclaimed: ‘All the men who come from Washington are liars, and the bald-headed ones are the worst of all! I don’t want to hear one word from you—you are a bald-headed old liar! You have but one thing to do here, and that is to give an order for us to return to White Clay Creek. Here are your written words, and if you don’t give this order, and everything here is not on wheels inside of ten days, I’ll order my young men to tear down and burn everything in this part of the country! I don’t want to hear anything more from you, and I’ve got nothing more to say to you,’ and he turned his back on the Commissioner and walked away. Such language would not have been borne from unarmed and helpless Indians; but when it came from a chief with 4000 armed warriors at his back, it was another affair altogether. The order was written. In less than ten days everything was