Why did the government wink at this great imposition? Because after the railroad came colonization was imminent, but land overrun by wild Indians and buffalo could not be occupied. The herds had to be greatly diminished and the Indians, confined. The destruction of the bison was the most expedient means of bringing a recalcitrant race into subjection.[169] The nomads cagily rejected federal treaties until the bison commissary was destroyed. Then it was either fight or surrender. Several tribes elected to fight, to try to drive the white man back across the Missouri River. How much chance did they have in this belated effort? Indians were able warriors. They were slow to project, cautious to proceed, and firm to execute. Always cunning in strategy and subtle in ambush, they were certain to surprise.[170] An awareness of their limited numbers made them expert in decoy tactics and careful of their lives. Vigilant and watchful, they waited patiently for the advantage in time. They were quick and precise in estimating the strength of an enemy. Their code did not require a fight on equal terms. Indians, as a class, never equaled white men in the use of the rifle; however, they soon learned to improve the interval between firing and reloading. Extremely superstitious, they carried certain charms about their persons, the efficacy of which was never doubted. Thus protected, they charged fearlessly into an affray. Too, youth was considered the proper time to die, and young men sometimes sought death, lending an air of fanaticism to the attacks. Red men were greatly exhilarated by victory. They would vault and yell in fiendish glee as they flourished the gory scalps of their victims. By 1850, however, the destiny of Indian folk was established. Thereafter, their cries seldom bore the shrill staccato notes of victory but rather the mournful wail of defeat. The legend of “Big Foot,” great chief of the Flathead tribe, had been fulfilled. In 1804 he is supposed to have assembled his warriors in council and related this message: My heart tells me that the Great Spirit has forsaken us; he has furnished our enemies with his thunder to destroy us, yet something whispers to me, that we may fly to the mountains and avoid a fate, which, if we remain here, is inevitable. The lips of our women are white with dread, there are no smiles on the lips of our children. Our joyous sports are no more, glad tales are gone from the evening fires of our lodges. I see no face but is sad, silent, and thoughtful; nothing meets my ears but wild lamentations for departed heroes. Arise, let us fly to the mountains, let us seek their deepest recesses where unknown to our destroyers, we may hunt the deer and bighorn, and bring gladness back to the hearts of our wives and our children![171]