We were
pretty sure there were no white people ahead of us, and we did not
suppose the Indians in this far-off land had any firearms. It might be
barely possible that we were coming now to some wagon train taking a
southern course, for we had never heard that there were any settlements
in this direction and the barren country would preclude any such thing,
as we viewed it now. If it was a hostile band we could not do much with
a rifle and a shot gun toward defending ourselves or taking the
aggressive. Some of the boys spoke of our scalps ornamenting a spear
handle, and indulged in such like cheerful talk which comforted us
wonderfully.
Finally we concluded we did not come out into that wild country to be
afraid of a few gunshots, and determined to put on a bold front, fight
if we had to, run away if we could not do any better, and take our
chances on getting scalped or roasted. Just then we came in sight of
three Indian lodges just a little back from the river, and now we knew
for certain who had the guns. McMahon and I were in the lead as usual,
and it was only a moment before one of the Indians appeared, gun in
hand, and made motions for us to come on shore. A cottonwood tree lay
nearly across the river, and I had gone so far that I had to go around
it and land below, but the other boys behind were afraid to do otherwise
than to land right there as the Indian kept his gun lying across his
arm. I ran our canoe below to a patch of willows, where we landed and
crawled through the brush till we came in sight of the other boys, where
we stood and waited a moment to see how they fared, and whether our red
men were friends or enemies.
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