“‘Terrapins!’ promptly replied Smith.
“‘Terrapins?’ echoed I, in surprise, at the name. ‘Terrapins! How do you cook them?’
“‘You know them hard-shell land terrapin?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Well! the squaws go out to the sand buttes and bring the critters in and cook ’em in the shell alive—those stewin’ thar ar cleaned first. Howsomever, they’re darned good!’
“‘Yes, hos, an’ that’s a fact, wagh!’ chimed in Greenwood.
“I listened, of course, with much interest to their account of the savage dish, and waited, with impatience for a taste of that, the recital of whose merits sharpened my already keen appetite. When the squaw transferred the contents of the kettle to a wooden bowl, and passed it on to us, our butcher knives were in immediate requisition. Taking a piece, with hungry avidity, which Smith handed me, without thought, as to what part of the terrapin it was, I ate it with much gusto, calling ‘for more.’ It was extremely good, and I spoke of the delicacy of the meat, and answered all their questions as to its excellency in the affirmative, even to the extent of a panegyric on the whole turtle species. After fully committing myself, Smith looked at me a while in silence, the corners of his mouth gradually making preparations for a laugh, and asked:
“‘Well, hos! how do you like dogmeat?’ and then such hearty guffaws were never heard. The stupefaction into which I was thrown by the revolting announcement, only increased their merriment, which soon was resolved into yells of delight at my discomfiture.
“A revulsion of opinion, and dogmeat too, ensued, for I could feel the ‘pup’ crawling up my throat; but saying to myself—‘that it was good under the name of terrapin,’ ‘that a rose under any other name would smell as sweet,’ and that it would be prejudice to stop, I broke the shackles of deep-rooted antipathy to the canine breed, and, putting a choice morceau on top of that already swallowed, ever after remained a stanch defender and admirer of dogmeat. The conversation held with Smith, the second day of our acquaintance, was brought to mind, and I acknowledged that ‘dog’ was next in order to buffalo.”
Life in the Cheyenne camp went on interestingly. Garrard began to make a vocabulary of the Cheyenne language, and soon to speak it in a broken fashion which caused his auditors to shriek with laughter. He watched them at the sign language, amused them with games and the few books which he possessed, went to feasts, noted the odd implements and ways of his camp mates, and set down all that happened, together with his boyish reflections on the incidents.