“Williams, that boy o’ yourn will make a fine old pioneer and mountaineer, if he catches on at this rate.”
The youthful plainsman heard it and smiled, for he had felt very badly before.
The party pushed onward and reached Salt Creek. Camp had just been made when a small herd of buffalo appeared in the distance and made directly for the little band. Williams gave orders to corral all the stock, for he feared that this was the game of some plains Indians, and he was not far from being correct. The stock had barely been secured when the buffalo thundered by, followed by thirty painted Kiowa warriors. They were wild and savage.
The trappers had placed their packs in a triangle, and crouched behind them. This made an excellent breastwork. Each man was armed with a rifle, two pistols, a tomahawk, and a large knife, called a “tooth-picker.” Two of the men had bows and arrows with which they were experts.
The redskins rode up insolently; examined the outfit, and demanded pay for passing through their country.
“You can neither touch our traps nor will we give you pay for riding through your country,” said Williams. “This is Pawnee country and you are Kiowas.”
The Indians seemed to be ill pleased and looked vindictively at the sturdy men of the plains. The leader was given some tobacco. He was not a chief, but a young brave with two feathers stuck in his scalp-lock. After receiving this gift the savages withdrew, saying: “Ugh! Ugh! We come again!”
The trapper kept close watch during the night, expecting that the Indians would attempt to steal some of the stock and attack the camp. But nothing occurred. Many outfits have come to grief by putting confidence in the red man, who always covets the belongings of the paleface. Old and experienced mountain men like these left nothing to chance.
Pretty soon the trappers reached the camp of some Cheyennes and there unpacked their goods in order to trade. Young Bill accompanied the chief’s son, Swift Runner, through the village, who introduced him to all the leading men.