258 WALL STREET AND THE WILDS 



were sitting, almost hidden by more than my own 

 weight of turkeys. The boisterous congratula- 

 tions of men of my own race were as nothing to 

 the distinction conferred upon me by the copper- 

 colored native Americans. Jones told me that 

 the Indians had agreed that I was "Heap Damn 

 Big Turkey Chief" and was to be known by that 

 title thereafter. He added, humorously, that a 

 few remarks addressed to them in the Comanche 

 tongue would be appropriate and appreciated by 

 them. This much can be said in defense of my 

 massacre of the turkeys, that not a pound of their 

 flesh went to waste. Iron Mountain alone ac- 

 counted for most of one gobbler at a meal. 



Running buffaloes was rare sport for a time, 

 though the graceful control of their ponies by 

 the Indians made my clumsy horsemanship a 

 continuous mortification and sometimes even a 

 danger to me. There was no limit to the number 

 of the creatures that could be killed, but there 

 was to the meat that could be cured and the hides 

 that could be cared for. The Indians of that 

 day were conservationists in comparison with 



