n council,
however, did not agree with him; they thought that it was his duty to
have remained at the village in defence of the women and children, as he
had been urged to refrain from going on the hunt for that very purpose.

Some time before Satank lost his office of chief, there was living on
Cow Creek, in a rude adobe building, a man who was ostensibly an Indian
trader, but whose traffic, in reality, consisted in selling whiskey to
the Indians, and consequently the United States troops were always after
him. He was obliged to cache his liquor in every conceivable manner so
that the soldiers should not discover it, and, of course, he dreaded
the incursions of the troops much more than he did raids of the Indian
marauders that were constantly on the Trail.

Satank and this illicit trader, whose name was Peacock, were great
chums. One day while they were indulging in a general good time
over sundry drinks of most villanous liquor, Satank said to Peacock:
"Peacock, I want you to write me a letter; a real nice one, that I can
show to the wagon-bosses on the Trail, and get all the 'chuck' I want.
Tell them I am Satank, the great chief of the Kiowas, and for them to
treat me the best they know how."

"All right, Satank," said Peacock; "I'll do so." Peacock then sat down
and wrote the following epistle:--

"The bearer of this is Satank. He is the biggest liar, beggar, and thief
on the plains. What he can't beg of you, he'll steal. Kick him out of
camp, for he is a lazy, good-for-nothing Indian."

Satank began at once to make use of the supposed precious document,
which he really believed would assure him the dignified treatment and
courtesy due to his exalted rank. He presented it to several caravans
during the ensuing week, and, of course, received a very cool reception
in every instance, or rather a very warm one.

One wagon-master, in fact, black-snaked him out of his camp. After
these repeated insults he sought another white friend, and told of his
grievances. "Look here," said Satank, "I asked Peacock to write me a
good letter, and he gave me this; but I don't understand it! Every time
I hand it to a wagon-boss, he gives me the devil! Read it to me and tell
me just what it does say."

His friend read it over, and then translated it literally to Satank. The
savage assumed a countenance of extreme disgust, and after musing for a
few moments, said: "Well, I understand it all now. All right!"

The next morning at