This is damn interesting.

An American Indian man on horseback stood outlined against a steely sky past midday on the 5th of October 1877.

Winter was already settling into the prairies of what would soon become the state of Montana.

Five white men stood in the swaying grass on the other side of the field, watching the horse

move closer. Four wore blue uniforms, another in civilian attire. One of the uniformed men was tall

and stout, with bright blue eyes and a large

curling mustache. He watched the proceedings with an air of self-importance. The surrender of the

man on horseback might have been inevitable, sure, but it was nevertheless a nice feather in his cap.

Perhaps his superiors would finally grant him that promotion after this

whole affair was over. The other four men were more apprehensive. All of them were experienced in

fighting American Indians on the frontier, but this opponent had been different. One man, with a full

dark beard and right arm missing below the elbow, looked at the approaching

chief with grudging respect. The man had lost his arm in the American Civil War 15 years earlier,

so he knew battle well. And in his opinion, the man across the field was a tactical genius,

a, quote, red Napoleon. Despite overwhelming odds, this red Napoleon had wormed his way out of

battle after battle, somehow always coming out on top. Until now, that was. Now he was surrendering to the

U.S. military. Surrounding the horse were five others, walking with their hands on the horse's flanks.

All of them wore blankets, the edges flapping in the snowflake-flect wind.

The man on horseback wore a blanket across his right shoulder to his left arm,

revealing buckskin leggings and a shirt tattered with bullet holes.

His hair was pulled back into two long braids and tied up

with otterskin. A rifle lay across his lap. Chief Joseph of the Nez Perce tribe slid off the horse

...