Spotted Tail himself was friendly, but
some of his young men were decidedly hostile. My activities as a scout
had made me many enemies among the Sioux, and it is not their nature
easily to forget old grudges.
At the close of the first day I made camp on a tributary of Frenchman's
Fork, and built a little fire. The night was bitter cold, and I was so
busy keeping warm that I got very little sleep. The next afternoon I
began to notice fresh horse tracks and the carcasses of recently killed
buffaloes. I knew that I was nearing an Indian camp. It was not policy
to ride boldly in among the Indians, as some of them might be inclined
to shoot me first and discover later that I was a friend of Spotted
Tail. So I hid my horse in a low ravine and crawled up a hill, from
whose summit I obtained a good view of the country.
When night fell, I rode into camp unobserved. As I entered the camp I
wrapped my blanket, Indian fashion, about my head, so that the redskins
would not at once recognize me as a white man. Then I hunted about till
I found Spotted Tail's lodge. The old chief was stretched lazily out on
a pile of robes as I looked in. He knew who I was and invited me to
enter.
In the lodge I found Todd Randall, an old white frontiersman, who was
Spotted Tail's friend and agent, and who had lived a great many years
with the Indians. Randall, who spoke the Sioux jargon perfectly, did
the interpreting, and through him I readily communicated to the chief
the object of my visit.
Pages:
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234