The old chief seemed not the least disconcerted, but begged for five
beeves, as many of the squaws were in the encampment across the North
Fork, those present being not quite half of his village. It was now
getting late in the day and the band seemed to be getting tired of the
parleying, a number of squaws having already set out on their return
to the village. After some further talk, Flood agreed to add another
beef, on condition they be taken to the encampment before being
killed. This was accepted, and at once the entire band set up a
chattering in view of the coming feast. The cattle had in the mean
time grazed off nearly a mile, the outfit, however, holding them under
a close herd during the powwowing. All the bucks in the band,
numbering about forty, now joined us, and we rode away to the herd. I
noticed, by the way, that quite a number of the younger braves had
arms, and no doubt they would have made a display of force had Flood's
diplomacy been of a more warlike character. While drifting the herd
back to the trail we cut out a big lame steer and two stray cows for
the Indians, who now left us and followed the beeves which were being
driven to their village.

Flood had instructed Quarternight and me to invite the two Apaches to
our camp for the night, on the promise of sugar, coffee, and tobacco.
They consulted with the old chief, and gaining his consent came with
us. We extended the hospitality of our wagon to our guests, and when
supper was over, promised them an extra beef if they would give us
particulars of the trail until it crossed the North Fork, after that
river turned west towards the Pan-handle. It was evident that they
were familiar with the country, for one of them accepted our offer,
and with his finger sketched a rude map on the ground where there had
formerly been a camp-fire. He outlined the two rivers between which we