There was one little child, probably three years old, just big enough to walk through the sand. The Indians had gone ahead, and this little child was behind following after them. The little fellow was perfectly naked, travelling on the sand. I saw one man get off his horse, at a distance of about seventy-five yards, and draw up his rifle and fire—he missed the child. Another man came up and said, “Let me try the son of a bitch; I can hit him.” He got down off his horse, kneeled down and fired at the little child, but he missed him. A third man came up and made a similar remark, and fired, and
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A holocaust we have all failed. I completely agree to the writer's point of view that sometimes, the magnitude of the massacre is so great that we lose the human touch and only think of it in terms of numbers. How that very thought robs the tragedy of its justice.
