We all called for the story, and as nearly as can be given from memoranda that I took at the time, his talk ran like this:
"I ain't much on telling stories," (said the trapper) "but some of these young Indian bucks are about as much dandies as any of the white folks. You know Major Sanford was the Indian Agent for the Assiniboine tribe, and as a lot of chiefs from other tribes were going down the Missouri to go to see the President in Washington, he went for Wi-jun-jun, because he was tall and wore more feathers and put on more d—d style with his people than any other Injun on the river."
"Don't swear, Conk," interjected Tom.
"Excuse me, ladies,—but as I was saying, he would go around on the steamboat when he was going down the river, so the people and the other Injuns would look at him just as fine dressed white men do when they think they are better than common folks. But he was a d—d good fighter! Excuse my swearing, ladies.
"Well, he got to Washington with the rest of 'em and thought he was a devil of a fellow, when everybody, men and women, looked at him,—more'n they did at the rest of 'em. He and the rest of 'em were took aroun' to see the ships and the cannon and they went to the theatre, and he sot where everybody could see him. They knew the Injuns were going to be there, but that d—d fool—excuse my swearin,' ladies—that d—d fool thought he was a devil of a fellow. He felt bigger than ever when they wanted his clothes and feathers to hang up in some show place there, so he let'em have'em in trade for some American soldiers' clothes made for a general,—and the Agent agreed to let him wear his Injun clothes until he got back as far as St. Louis.
"They boarded the first steamboat that Mr. Chouteau sent up the river that spring, and Sanford went with 'em and took Wi-jun-jun into his room on the boat, and helped him change his clothes, for how in hell—excuse my swearing, ladies—could an Injun get into a general's clothes, and get 'em on right?
"After a while when he came out on deck, he had on a blue broadcloth general's coat, with high collar and with gilt epaulets on the shoulders, and a tall beaver hat. He had on a belt with a big sword, and he had on long-top high-heeled boots. He had learned on this trip to smoke cigars, and Sanford brought him out and was as solemn as a funeral, and Wi-jun-jun was smoking a cigar, and marched out on deck with all that toggery on. The sword got between his legs and his hat was on the back of his head and his long black hair hung down behind. There wasn't only a few white passengers on the steamboat and they got tired of him pretty soon, but when they all got to the Yellowstone, of course, Major Sanford and his Injuns got off at their town, and that cuss—excuse my swearing, ladies—that d—d cuss walked up through their village and for awhile wouldn't look at any of 'em—even his wife. But Sanford had give him two bottles of whiskey, and they both stuck out of his split-tail coat pockets, and pretty soon he commenced on the whiskey. The next day the sleeves of his coat were on his wife's legs for leggins, which she thought was pretty fine, and the gold lace of his clothes were on women in the tribe, and the epaulet things were in their hair, and the dandy purty soon hadn't a d—d thing left—excuse my swearing, ladies—but I hear'n you talking about how feathers looked to you on an Injun and I thought of that d—d Assinboine—excuse my swearing, ladies; I've got so use to it out here I can't help it. The thing is, he had shown himself off in soldiers' clothes and don't you see, ladies, that an Injun must wear Injuns' clothes or he looks like—well, I came purty near swearing,—but Injun clothes and feathers are all right for Injuns, but ain't worth a damn for white people."
The trapper bit a big piece from his plug of tobacco, while he received favorable expressions concerning the history, which he had given and yet—
"Jack was embarrassed—never hero more—
And as he knew not what to say—he swore."
Many years after our party camped near Red Buttes, the writer discovered in the second volume of Elliot Coues' notes on Forty Years a Fur Trader, a brief description of the visit of Wi-jun-jun to Washington and the gift to him of the general's outfit. The portrait of the warrior-dude is preserved in the Catlin collection.