114 CRUISINGS IN THE CASCADES 



In their native tongue of strange, weird gutturals^ 

 hisses, and aspirations, they had conversed all the 

 evening of I knew not what. John had rather 

 an honest, frank face, that I thought bespoke a 

 good heart, but Seymour had a dark, repulsive 

 countenance that plainly indicated a treacherous 

 nature. From the first I had made up my mind 

 that he was a thief, if nothing worse. He pre- 

 tended not to be able to speak or understand Eng- 

 lish, although I knew he could. John spoke our 

 tongue fairly, and through him all communication 

 with either or both was held. Should they contem- 

 plate any violence I would welcome them both to an 

 encounter, if only I could have notice of it a second 

 in advance. Their two old smooth-bore muskets 

 would cut no figure against the deadly stream of fire 

 that my Winchester express could pour forth. But 

 I dreaded the treachery, the stealth, the silent mid- 

 night assault that is a characteristic of their race. 

 Yet, on further consideration, I dismissed all such 

 forebodings as purely chimerical. These were civil- 

 ized Indians, living within the sound of the whistle 

 of a railroad engine, and would hardly be willing to 

 place themselves within the toils of the law, by the 

 commission of such a crime, even if they had the 

 courage or the desire to do it, and I hoped they had 

 neither. 



Then my fancies turned to the contemplation of 

 pleasanter themes. I thought of the dear little- 

 black-eyed woman, whom I had parted with on board 

 the steamer nearly a week ago. She is homeward- 

 bound and must now be speeding over the Dakota or 

 Minnesota prairies, well on toward St. Paul. Will 



