STEEP TRAILS 



all of them painted with red earth, armed with 

 bows, arrows, bone-tipped spears, and flint knives. 

 They appeared anything but friendly. I explained 

 to them what I wanted and they seemed satisfied 

 and sat down to smoke; but presently I saw one of 

 them string his bow and another sharpen his flint 

 knife with a pair of wooden pincers and suspend it 

 on the wrist of his right hand. Further testimony 

 of their intentions was unnecessary. To save my- 

 self by flight was impossible, so without hesitation 

 I stepped back about five paces, cocked my gun, 

 drew one of the pistols out of my belt, and holding 

 it in my left hand, the gun in my right, showed 

 myself determined to fight for my life. As much 

 as possible I endeavored to preserve my coolness, 

 and thus we stood looking at one another without 

 making any movement or uttering a word for per- 

 haps ten minutes, when one at last, who seemed to 

 be the leader, gave a sign that they wished for some 

 tobacco; this I signified they should have if they 

 fetched a quantity of cones. They went off immedi- 

 ately in search of them, and no sooner were they all 

 out of sight than I picked up my three cones and 

 some twigs of the trees and made the quickest pos- 

 sible retreat, hurrying back to my camp, which I 

 reached before dusk. The Indian who last under- 

 took to be my guide to the trees I sent off before 

 gaining my encampment, lest he should betray me. 

 How irksome is the darkness of night to one under 

 such circumstances. I cannot speak a word to my 

 guide, nor have I a book to divert my thoughts, 

 which are continually occupied with the dread lest 

 the hostile Indians should trace me hither and make 

 an attack. I now write lying on the grass with my 



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