Although brown from exposure to sun and wind,
had become white and chalky. It is not surprising that my face turned
white; the only wonder is that the pigtail did not turn white, too!
It was not right for Faye to give liquor to an Indian, but what else
could be done under the circumstances? There happened to be a flask of
brandy in the trunk, but fortunately there was only a small quantity
that we had brought up for medicinal purposes, and it was precious,
too, for we were far from a doctor. But Faye had to get it out for the
chief, who had sat there smoking in such an innocent way, but who had
all the time been studying out where there might be hidden some
"whisk!" Wauk drank almost all of it, Powder-Face seeming to derive
more pleasure in seeing her drink his portion than in drinking it
himself. Consequently, when she went out to mount her horse her steps
were a little unsteady, over which the chief laughed heartily.
It was with the greatest relief I saw them ride away. They certainly
had furnished entertainment, but it was of a kind that would satisfy
one for a long time. I was afraid they might come for dinner again the
following day, but they did not.
Powder-Face thought that the pony Cheyenne was not a good enough horse
for me, so the morning after he was here an Indian, called Dog,
appeared with a very good animal, large and well gaited, that the
chief had sent over, not as a present, but for a trade.
We let poor Cheyenne go back to the Indians, a quantity of sugar,
coffee, and such things going with him, and now I have a
strawberry-roan horse named Powder-Face.
Chief Powder-Face, who is really not old, is respected by everyone,
and has been instrumental in causing the Arapahoe nation to cease
hostilities toward white people. Some of the chiefs of lesser rank
have much of the dignity of high-born savages, particularly Lone Wolf
and his son Big Mouth, both of whom come to see us now and then. Lone
Wolf is no longer a warrior, and of course no longer wears a scalp
lock and strings of wampum and beads, and would like to have you
believe that he has ever been the white man's friend, but I suspect
that even now there might be brought forth an old war belt with
hanging scalps that could tell of massacre, torture, and murder. Big
Mouth is a war chief, and has the same grand physique as Powder-Face
and a personality almost as striking. His hair is simply splendid,
wonderfully heavy and long and very glossy. His scalp lock is most
artistic, and undoubtedly kept in order by a squaw.
The picture of the two generations of chiefs is unique and rare. It
shows in detail the everyday dress of the genuine blanket Indians as
we see them here. Just how it was obtained I do not know, for Indians
do not like a camera. We have daily visits from dozens of so-called
friendly Indians, but I would not trust one of them. Many white people
who have lived among Indians and know them well declare that an Indian
is always an Indian; that, no matter how fine the veneering
civilization may have given him, there ever lies dormant the traits of
the savage, ready to spring forth without warning in acts of treachery
and fiendish cruelty.
CIMARRON REDOUBT,
January, 1873.
IT was such a pleasant surprise yesterday when General Bourke drove up
to the redoubt on his way to Camp Supply from dear old Fort Lyon. He
has been ordered to relieve General Dickinson, and was taking down
furniture, his dogs, and handsome team. Of course there was an escort,
and ever so many wagons, some loaded with tents and camp outfits. We
are rejoicing over the prospect of having an infantry officer in
command when we return to the post. The general remained for luncheon
and seemed to enjoy the broiled buffalo steak very much. He said that
now there are very few buffalo in Colorado and Kansas, because of
their wholesale slaughter by white men during the past year. These men
kill them for the skins only, and General Bourke said that he saw
hundreds of carcasses on the plains between Lyon and Dodge. They are
boldly coming to the Indian Territory now, and cavalry has been sent
out several times to drive them from the reservation.
If the Indians should attempt to protect their rights it would be
called an uprising at once, so they have to lie around on the sand
hills and watch their beloved buffalo gradually disappear, and all the
time they know only too well that with them will go the skins that
give them tepees and clothing, and the meat that furnishes almost all
of their sustenance.
During the blizzard two weeks ago ten or twelve of these buffalo
hunters were caught out in the storm, and being unable to find their
own camps they wandered into Indian villages, each man about half dead
from exposure to the cold and hunger. All were suffering more or less
from frozen feet and hands. In every case the Indians fed and cared
for them until the storm was over, and then they told them to go - and
go fast and far, or it would not be well with them. Faye says that it
was truly noble in the Indians to keep alive those men when they knew
they had been stealing so much from them. But Faye can always see more
good in Indians than I can. Even a savage could scarcely kill a man
when he appeals to him for protection!
