THE STORY OF AN OUTING 



How in the world they got there without my hearing 

 them and whence they came were a mystery. What 

 did they want? Evidently their intentions were not 

 hostile or I would have discovered it from some overt 

 act of theirs. I looked about, and my gun was some 

 distance away. What should I do? What should I say? 

 I am not a good conversationalist at best, and I never 

 had such labor in starting a conversation. I "ahemmed " 

 several times without attracting attention. I said 

 "Good morning" with equally barren results. I finally 

 advanced a step or two, paused, and gazed at them; 

 whereupon the chief of the band arose, advanced, and 

 held out his hand and said, "How do, son-bitch?" I 

 recognized the salutation, and shook his hand, where- 

 upon he returned and resumed his former seat in pristine 

 stolidity. Evidently they were hungry. We had quan- 

 tities of game hanging about, and I pointed to the same 

 and asked if they were hungry. They understood the 

 gesture and straightway kindled afresh the fire. Each 

 cutting such a hunk of venison or elk as his appetite 

 craved, proceeded to cook it on a stick over the fire; they 

 barely heated it through, and then ate and resumed their 

 circular seats around the fire. The pipe of peace had 

 been in my mind for some time. I took a plug of navy 

 smoking-tobacco about a foot in length, and cut off 

 thirteen strips and gave one to each. They received the 

 same with alacrity, filled and lighted their pipes, and 

 resumed their seats. Well, it was interesting, but I 

 heartily wished the reception over, and, carelessly seating 

 myself in proximity to my gun, resolved to sit it out. 

 Their pipes finished, at a guttural command from their 

 chief they arose, swung into line, and advanced to me; 



72 



