Only two years ago the entire Ute nation was on the
warpath, killing every white person they came across, and one must
have much faith in Indians to believe that their "change of heart"
has been so complete that these Utes have learned to love the white
man in so short a time.
No! There was hatred in their eyes as they approached us in that
store, and there was restrained murder in the hand that pushed Mrs.
Phillips and me over. They were all hideous--with streaks of red or
green paint on their faces that made them look like fiends. Their hair
was roped with strips of bright-colored stuff, and hung down on each
side of their shoulders in front, and on the crown of each black head
was a small, tightly plaited lock, ornamented at the top with a
feather, a piece of tin, or something fantastic. These were their
scalp locks. They wore blankets over dirty old shirts, and of course
had on long, trouserlike leggings of skin and moccasins. They were not
tall, but rather short and stocky. The odor of those skins, and of the
Indians themselves, in that stuffy little shop, I expect to smell the
rest of my life!
We heard this morning that those very savages rode out on the plains
in a roundabout way, so as to get in advance of the Cheyennes, and
then had hidden themselves on the top of a bluff overlooking the trail
they knew the Cheyennes to be following, and had fired upon them as
they passed below, killing two and wounding a number of others.
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