Well, I have seen an Indian--a number of Indians--but they were not
Red Jackets, neither were they noble red men. They were simply, and
only, painted, dirty, and nauseous-smelling savages! Mrs. Phillips
says that Indians are all alike--that when you have seen one you have
seen all. And she must know, for she has lived on the frontier a long
time, and has seen many Indians of many tribes.
We went to Las Animas yesterday, Mrs. Phillips, Mrs. Cole, and I, to
do a little shopping. There are several small stores in the
half-Mexican village, where curious little things from Mexico can
often be found, if one does not mind poking about underneath the trash
and dirt that is everywhere. While we were in the largest of these
shops, ten or twelve Indians dashed up to the door on their ponies,
and four of them, slipping down, came in the store and passed on
quickly to the counter farthest back, where the ammunition is kept. As
they came toward us in their imperious way, never once looking to the
right or to the left, they seemed like giants, and to increase in size
and numbers with every step.
Their coming was so sudden we did not have a chance to get out of
their way, and it so happened that Mrs. Phillips and I were in their
line of march, and when the one in the lead got to us, we were pushed
aside with such impatient force that we both fell over on the counter.
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