The soldiers came to the borders of the village and forced us across the Niobrara to the other side, just as one would drive a herd of ponies; and the soldiers pushed us on until we came to the Platte River. They drove us on in advance just as if we were a herd of ponies, and I said, ‘If I have to go, I’ll go to that land. Let the soldiers go away, our women are afraid of them.’ And so I reached the Warm Land [Indian Territory]. We found the land there was bad and we were dying one after another, and we said, ‘What man will take pity on us?’ And our animals died. Oh, it was very hot. ‘This land is truly sickly, and we’ll be apt to die here, and we hope the Great Father will take us back again.’ That is what we said. There were one hundred of us died there.
– White Eagle