ed out towards
me, with his bows and arrows. He was entirely naked except his breach
clout and a small plaid shawl thrown over his shoulders. The ends were
fastened down by a piece of black tape. On this tape was strung a pair of
common shears, apparently as an ornament.

His color was like a new piece of copper, clear, brilliant and exceedingly
beautiful, like one of the most majestic statues in shining bronze. "How
do you do?" said he, in Spanish, as he approached me and held out his
hand. I took his hand, returning the salutation in the same language.

"Why do you come here?" he then promptly said. "This is our country. We
have nothing to give you, for yourselves or your horses."

I gave him some tobacco in token of good will, and then replied: "We have
come to look at the country. We do not wish you to give us anything. If
you are friendly, we shall give you presents. If you attack us, we shall
kill you." I then added: "Some of the Indians of this country massacred a
party only a year ago. We shall have no more killed by them. We shall
build a fort here, to protect our emigrants."

He replied a little angrily, "I am a Mohave. My people own this country. I
shall kill whoever I please." I had not any doubt that the shawl and the
shears came from the party they had massacred. I pointed to the shawl and
said:

"Where did you get that?"

"I bought them," he replied, evidently annoyed. "I bought them from the
Piute Indians."

"My brother," I replied, "does not talk with a straight tongue. It is
forked, and his words are crooked." He now added, with considerable
warmth:

"Go to your own camp, and prepare for war. I will not kill you. Your guns
are short. I will take your horses, and my men shall have a big feast.
Your horses are fat and good. I have many men many braves. You have but
few. Go to your camp and prepare for war."

"Indian," said I, "I go, but remember that our short guns kill an Indian
every time. We never stop to load them."

I turned to go back to the camp. It is not etiquette on such an occasion
to back out, watching your opponent, as though you were a coward and
feared an attack. I turned squarely round, with my back to the Indian,
when I saw the boys at the fort suddenly raise their rifles with their
muzzles directed towards us. At that moment, an arrow whizzed through my
buckskin shirt, just making a flesh wound on the shoulder. I had slightly
turned as the arrow left the bow, otherwise I sho