After a short conference together, Jerry decided it was better for us to
ride out and meet the party, rather than permit them to join us.

We accordingly prepared for the expedition, giving the Mexicans
instructions to proceed quietly with the stock.

As we approached the Indians, their leader, an old man apparantly about
sixty years of age, with a singularly cunning and wicked looking
countenance, came towards us and extended his hand for a shake; while,
with much solemnity, he announced himself as _Cuchillo_, a Comanche
chief, and a great friend of the whites.

While Jerry was conversing with the old fellow in Spanish, I made myself
familiar with the general appearance of the party. They were dressed each
with a buffalo rug thrown over his left shoulder in such a manner as to
allow it to sweep the ground behind him. They wore moccasins on their
feet, made of buckskin, with a heavy fringe or tassels pendant from the
seam behind, long enough to permit it to drag upon the ground. These,
with leggins made from a piece of blanket, which was wrapped about the
leg below the knee and fastened with a thong of buckskin, heavily
fringed, and the breechcloth, completed the dress.

Each was painted in a most hideous manner, in ochre and vermilion mixed
with a whitish clay.

Cuchillo shortly produced a well-worn greasy paper from a small bag he
wore around his neck, which he handed me, making a sign that I was to
read it.