Fatalism is a part and parcel of the mountain and plain, and the greater frontier, as we well know, and we presume it is the same of war. The belief that "a man who is born to be hung will never be drowned," is old as the hills. In the remote periods of ancient India, Sanjoya sang the battle song of fatalism. But old chief Wau-bo-jeg, who once loved and roamed over the land of western Nebraska, sang his songs in the middle of the night. When the dark shadows fell over Wildcat and Sixtysix mountains, over Crow Butttes and the Pine ridge, he would sit by his fire, and tell stories, and listen to others. When some story of battle prowess stirred those about the fire, he would sing, and this was one of his songs :

''On that day when our heroes lay

low -- lay low, On that day when our heroes lay low ; I fought by their side. And I thought 'ere I died, Just for vengeance I'd take one more foe."

There are several verses that tell of defeat and death, and then a verse on preparedness, that ran thus :

"Five winters in hunting we'll spend

-- we'll spend Five winters in hunting we'll spend.

When youths grown to men,

We'll to war lead again, And our davs like our fathers' will end."

The last line indicates the fatalistic resignation.

Thus the teachings went on from one generation to another, and the glories of war were forever dangled before the eyes of the young braves. He who cautiously dared to plead for peace was contemptuously dubbed a squaw.