I, John Smith, do solemnly swear that I will shoot on sight any male Indian, no matter whether he is attacking me or other white men, stealing or attempting to steal my property or the property of others, or whether he is approaching or moving from me. Furthermore, I will answer any call from another member of this band or any other good white citizen, for assistance in the destruction of any male Indian found on the south side of the North Platte river; and will join in any raid upon an Indian camp when called upon by the Chief Buckskin. So help me God. This oath was taken while standing on the stump of a cottonwood tree in the Lapariel bottoms, the candidate being loaded down with as many log chains as he could hold, and the ceremony, usually taken on a moonlight night, was as weird a sight as one can imagine. The raids from the north continued nearly all summer. Several more white men were killed, one a lone prospector who thought there was mineral in the hills southwest of Fort Fetterman and near old Fort Caspar. [Illustration: "Whistled to Give His Quarry the Chance He Would Give a Mad Dog, and No More."] One of the Buckskins hunting antelope one day in the vicinity of La Bonte Creek crossed the trail of a single tepee or family, and three ponies. This he knew from the lodge pole tracks made by a horse dragging the poles over the ground. The Buckskin took the trail, keeping well out of sight, but finally cut off a lone Indian who had dismounted to drink from a spring, allowing his young buck sons to go on. Buckskin whistled to give his quarry the chance he would give a mad dog--and no more. Then he put a bullet in his head. He remained on the spot from which he fired, waiting to hear from the rest of the tepee, which he did in a few minutes, although the young bucks kept out of sight. They fired a few shots before Buckskin decided to make a dash, and when he did it was a race of ten miles to a ford in the Platte. The young bucks escaped. Buckskin returned to his "Good Indian," removed a lock of his hair, took his gun and ammunition and a greasy card from the folds of his blanket upon which some white man had written: This is Cut Nose, a "Good" Sioux Indian; but he is a Murderer and Thief. There was a big session of the Buckskin Militia a few nights later, and great rejoicing. Cut Nose was a whole tribe of Indians in himself, and many dark crimes had been laid at his door by the white men who were engaged in freighting food to the Indian agencies and army posts.