irst time, face to face with the American Indian, the
sole owner of this vast and fertile continent before the paleface
landed to dispute his right of ownership. Foot by foot they had been
driven from East, North and South, until at that time they were
nearly all west of the great Missouri River, or River of Mud, as the
Indians called it. At the suggestion of our landlord, we took with us
an interpreter, a few trinkets, and something to moisten the old
chief's lips. Upon our arrival we were duly presented to the chief,
who invited us to sit on the ground upon fur robes made from the pelts
of different animals, including the antelope and the buffalo, or
American bison, the monarch of the plains, and each one of us in turn
took a pull at the pipe of peace. We then made a tour of their lodges.
When we returned, the chief called his squaws to whom we presented our
gifts, which pleased them greatly. To the old chief I handed a bottle
of Atchison's best. As he grasped it, a smile stole over his ugly
face, and with a healthy grunt and a broad grin, he handed me back the
empty bottle. Indians love liquor better than they do their squaws. In
return he gave me a buffalo robe which later became of great service.
After taking another pull at the pipe of peace, we thanked him and
took our departure, having no desire to be present when Atchison's
invigorator commenced to invigorate his Indian brain.

The impression made by that visit to a supposedly friendly tribe, who
at that time had a peace treaty with the government, was not one of
confidence. The noble red men, as they were called by the Eastern
philanthropist, were as treacherous to the whites as an ocean squall
to the navigator. No pen or picture has or can fully describe the
cruelty of their nature.

It was dusk when we reached our tavern, and we found it filled with a
lawless band of degenerates, as repulsive as any that ever invested
Western plains or canyons of the Rockies. We were at once surrounded
and by a display of their shooting irons, forced to join in their
beastly carnival. It was not for long, however, for a sign from the
landlord brought me to his side. He whispered, "When I let my guns
loose you fellows pike for the loft." There were no stairs. No sooner
had he pulled his life-takers than all the others followed his
example. Bullets flew in every direction. Clouds of smoke filled the
room, but we had ducked and scaled the ladder to the loft and safety.
Sleep