"That means peace," said Henry. "They aren't going to fire. Let's answer. How! how! how!"
"How! how! how!" Frank joined in, and at once the sixteen red men sprang to their feet, apparently none the worse for Henry's double charge of bird-shot at short range. They held their weapons above their heads, and continuing to utter their friendly "How," rapidly advanced toward the boys.
"They aren't playing us a trick, are they, Frank?" asked Henry, in an anxious tone.
"No," replied the older boy, after snatching a glance to the rear. "The Lieutenant and soldiers are saddling. The Indians dare not harm us on an open plain in sight of a mounted force."
The boys stopped, and the red men approached and began shaking their hands in the most friendly manner, over and over again, repeating "How" many times. They were clad in loose and sleeveless cotton shirts, all ragged and dirty, with no other clothing. The one who appeared to be chief was distinguished by the possession of three shirts, worn one above the other. Each man possessed several hares and field-rats, held against his waist by tucking the heads under his belt.
The sergeants and their strange guests reached the camp-fire, and the hand-shaking and exchange of friendly civilities went on for some time. The chief approached me, and asked in mongrel Spanish:
"Usto Capitan?" (are you the Captain?)
I replied in the affirmative.
"Yo Capitan tambien, mucho grande heap Capitan." (I'm a Captain, too; a very great heap Captain.)
He then asked where we were from and where we were going, and informed us that they were Yavapais on a hunting expedition. We exchanged bread with them for a few cotton-tails, and set Clary to making a rabbit stew, the boys and I deferring our supper until it should be ready.