They were coming across the prairie.
They were galloping hard and fast
for the eyes of those desperate riders
had sighted their man at last.

Sighted him off to the eastward
where the Cree encampment lay,
Where the cottonwood fringed the river
Miles and miles away.

Mistake him? Never! Mistake him
that famous Eagle Chief.
That terror to all the settlers,
that desperate cattle thief.

That monstrous fearless Indian
who lorded it over the plain
Who thieved and raided and scouted
who rode like a hurricane.

Up they wheeled to the tepees
All their British blood aflame,
Bent on bullets and bloodshed
Bent on bringing down their game.

But they searched in vain for the cattle thief
that lion had left his lair.
And they cursed like a pack of demons
for the women alone were there.

"That sneaking Indian coward," they hissed.
"He hides while yet he can.
He'll come in the night for cattle,
but he's scared to face a man."

"Never!" Then up from the cottonwood rang
the voice of Eagle Chief.
And right into the open,
stepped unarmed the cattle thief.

A dozen hands responded
and a shower of metal rain
whizzed through the air and the Cattle Thief
fell dead on the open plain.

"Stand back, back you white skins
Touch that dead man to your shame.
You have stolen my father's spirit,
but his body I only claim."

And that cursing band of settlers
dropped backward one by one
for they knew that an Indian woman roused
was a woman to let alone.

And then she raved in a frenzy
that they scarcely understood.
Raved of the wrongs she had suffered
from her earliest babyhood.

"You have robbed him and robbed my people.
Look there at that shrunken face.
Starved with a hollow hunger
We owe to you and your race.

"Give back our land and our country.
Give back our herds of game.
Give back the furs and the forests
that were ours before you came.

"Give back the peace and the plenty
Then come with your new belief.
And blame if you dare the hunger
that drove him to be a thief."