We
passed close by a large deserted encampment of Arapahoes. There were
about fifty fires still smouldering on the ground, and it was evident
from numerous signs that the Indians must have left the place within
two hours of our reaching it. Their trail crossed our own at right
angles, and led in the direction of a line of hills half a mile on
our left. There were women and children in the party, which would
have greatly diminished the danger of encountering them. Henry
Chatillon examined the encampment and the trail with a very
professional and businesslike air.
"Supposing we had met them, Henry?" said I.
"Why," said he, "we hold out our hands to them, and give them all
we've got; they take away everything, and then I believe they no kill
us. Perhaps," added he, looking up with a quiet, unchanged face,
"perhaps we no let them rob us. Maybe before they come near, we have
a chance to get into a ravine, or under the bank of the river; then,
you know, we fight them."
About noon on that day we reached Cherry Creek. Here was a great
abundance of wild cherries, plums, gooseberries, and currants. The
stream, however, like most of the others which we passed, was dried
up with the heat, and we had to dig holes in the sand to find water
for ourselves and our horses.
