252 WALL STREET AND THE WILDS 



layers of the latter. I said "How!" to the In- 

 dians about me and started a long-time friend- 

 ship with our interpreter, Horace Jones, ex-edi- 

 tor and ex-invalid from St. Louis, but now 

 Cocha Pareivo, "Buffalo Chief" of the Coman- 

 ches, with similar titles in other tribes, for he was 

 like Hay's Jim Bludsoe with "one wife in 

 Natchez under the hill and another one down in 

 Pike." He would jabber with Indians of many 

 tribes, talk with the toughest teamster, or correct 

 a misquotation of Burns or Byron, Shakespeare 

 or Solomon. His chiefest treasure was a pack of 

 wonderful greyhounds, the gift of an English- 

 man whom he had served. He had the beautiful 

 creatures with him and surely the sport they gave 

 us was never exceeded on earth. 



While we finished our breakfast the Indians 

 were preparing to attack a herd of buffalo that 

 were grazing among some mesquite trees near 

 the horizon. One after another of the Indians 

 mounted his pony, naked as when he was born. 

 He carried in his hand his bow and the quiver 

 of arrows hung on his shoulder. My own tired 



