It was as follows:--

"The Bearer, Cuchillo, is a Comanche Chief, who says he is a friend of
the White's. My advice is not to Trust him, or any other sneakin' varmint
like him. BILL POPE."

I handed the paper to Jerry; who, after reading it, gave it back to its
owner with the remark, it was _muncho bueno_, or very good.

The chief received it with a smile; and, as he returned it to the little
bag, remarked,--

"Very good, _me bueno amigo_" (good friend).

"P'raps yer be," remarked Jerry, in English, "but yer ain't ther sort I
hanker arter. I reckon we may as well shake hands, old feller, 'cause we
must be a-goin', an' you an' me hain't got no use for one another, no
how."

But our Comanche friends were not to be shaken off, so easily; for, even
after bidding them good by, Cuchillo insisted upon accompanying us; and,
rather than betray any fear, or show that we distrusted him, Jerry was
obliged to make a virtue of necessity, and assent to the proposition with
as good a grace as possible.

It was evident that curiosity at least was one of the motives that
actuated the Indians; for, upon overtaking our herd, they looked about
them, evidently expecting to see a larger party with us, and expressing
surprise at the quantity of stock we were driving.