and accompany us with his men some thirty miles farther, when we should
be comparatively out of danger. The next morning we started, the chief
and I riding close together and speaking of the Shoshones. We exchanged
our knives as a token of friendship, and when we parted, he assembled
all his men and made the following speech:--

"The young chief of the Shoshones Is returning to his brave people
across the rugged mountains. Learn his name, so that you may tell your
children that they have a friend in Owato Wanisha. He Is neither a
Shakanath (an Englishman) nor a Kishemoc Comoanak (a long knife, a
Yankee). He Is a chief among the tribe of our great-grandfathers, he is
a chief, though he is very, very young."

At this moment all the warriors came, one after the other, to shake
hands with me, and when this ceremony was terminated, the chief resumed
his discourse.

"Owato Wanisha, we met as strangers, we part as friends. Tell your young
warriors you have been among the Comanches, and that we would like to
know them. Tell them to come, a few or many, to our _waikiams_ (lodges);
they will find the moshkotaj (buffalo) in plenty.

"Farewell, young chief, with a pale face and an Indian heart; the earth
be light to thee and thine. May the white Manitou clear for thee the
mountain path, and may you never fail to remember _Opishka Toaki_ (the
White Raven), who is thy Comanche friend, and who would fain share with
thee his home, his wealth, and his wide prairies. I have said: young
brother, farewell."

The tears stood in our eyes as gallantly the band wheeled round. We