The sun had sunk behind the western mountains, and the deep gloom of night was settling over the wilderness, when as we reached the top of a swell, I saw for the first time the Indian village. It lay in a sort of valley, and numbered sixty or seventy lodges. As seen in the dim twilight these looked singularly picturesque and fanciful. I could see dark forms flitting like shadows about the lodges, and the low hum of their conversation was audible. We were descried, as our forms stood out in relief against the sky, but no signals were given by either party.
As we descended into the valley my heart began to fail me, at what I feared my reception would be. Stories of the tortures undergone by captives came over me, and I ventured my fears to my friend.
“What your name?” he asked, halting and turning toward me.
“Will,” I replied.
“Will stay here, and me come and fix things. My name Jim,” said he, taking the name probably given him by the whites with whom he was acquainted.
The other savages seeing us halting stopped also, and looked suspiciously. Jim (as I shall hereafter name him) said something in an unintelligible tongue and they passed on.
“Stay here, Will, and me fix things.”
With this he disappeared, and I seated myself upon the ground to await his return. It struck me as rather curious for him to give a captive such a good opportunity to escape, but it pleased me withal, and it need not be told I made no attempt to make off.
In a few moments he returned, bearing in his arms several Indian garments.