Of skins and beads, the fair army officer in his
uniform of blue, both looking in astonishment at the chief, whose
square jaws and flashing eyes plainly told that he was accustomed to
being obeyed, and expected to be obeyed then!
Faye says that I missed part of the scene; that, backed up against
sand-bags and clinging to them on either side for support, stood a
slender young woman with pigtail hanging down one shoulder, so
terrified that her face, 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.
