~e 
TABBA-QUENA, THE COMANCHE CHIEF. 19 
ascents—than all the rest of our journey put 
together. 
We had not been long at the Fort, before 
we received a visit from a party of Coman- 
ches, who having heard of our approach came 
to greet us a welcome, on the supposition that 
it was their friend Chouteau returning to the 
fort with fresh supplies of merchandise. Great 
was their grief when we informed them that 
their favorite trader had died at Fort Gibson, 
the previous winter. On visiting their wig- 
wams and inquiring for their capitan,* we 
were introduced to a corpulent, squint-eyed 
old fellow, who certainly had nothing in his 
personal appearance indicative of rank or 
dignity. This was Tabba-quena (or the Big 
Fogle), a name familiar to all the Comanche 
ders. As we had frequently heard that he 
ees Spanish fluently, we at once prepared 
ourselves for a social chit-chat; but, on ac- 
costing him in that tongue and inquiring 
whether he could talk Spanish, he merely re- 
plied ‘ Poguito, putting at the same time 
forefinger to his ear, to signify that he merely 
understood a little—which proved true toa 
degree, for our communication was chiefl 
y signs. were now about to launch 
upon an onkait wn region—our route lay 
henceforth across that unexplored wilderness, 
of which I have so frequently spoken, with- 
out either pilot or trail to guide us for nearly 
500 miles. We had fe depend entirely upon 
* Most of the prairie Indians seem to have learned this Span- 
ish word, W which, when talking with the whites, all their chiefs 
are designated. 
