ne
man in the train by the name of Rebel who at the time they had left
home had sworn that he would kill the first Indian he came across. This
opportunity occurred this morning about five miles back of where we met
them. The train was moving along slowly when this man "Rebel" saw a
squaw sitting on a log with a papoose in her arms, nursing. He shot her
down; she was a Kiawah squaw, and it was right on the edge of their
village where he killed her in cold blood. The Kiawahs were a very
strong tribe, but up to this time they had never been hostile to the
whites; but this deed so enraged the warriors that they came out in a
body and surrounded the emigrants and demanded them to give up the man
who had shot the squaw. Of course, his comrades tried not to give him to
them, but the Indians told them if they did not give the man to them,
they would kill them all. So knowing that the whole train was at the
mercy of the Indians, they gave the man to them. The Indians dragged him
about a hundred yards and tied him to a tree, and then they skinned
him alive and then turned him loose. One of the men told us that the
butchered creature lived about an hour, suffering the most intense
agony. They had just buried him when we rode into the camp. The woman
and some of the men talked about the dreadful thing; one of the men said
it was a comfort to know that he had no family with him here or back
home to grieve at his dreadful death.

On hearing this remark Jim said, "You are the most lucky outfit I ever
saw. Any other tribe of Indians this side of the Rocky Mountains would
not have left one of you to have told the tale, and it is just such
darned fools as that man that stir up the Indians, to do so much
deviltry."

Until this time there had been but a few of the emigrants near us. We
were both dressed in buck-skin, and they did not know what to make of
us. The young girls and some of the young men were very shy. They had
never seen anyone dressed in buck-skin before. An elderly woman came
to us and said, "Ain't you two men what they call mountaineers?" Jim
answered, "Yes, marm, I reckon, we are."

She replied, "Well, if you are, my old man wants you to come and eat
supper with we'ns."

Jim turned to me and laughed. "Shall we go and eat with them, Willie?"
he asked. I answered, "Yes, let's get acquainted with everybody."

We went with the old lady to their tent, which was but a few steps from
where we stood. When she had presented u