We have felt very brave since the camp has been established, and two
days ago several of us drove over to a Cheyenne village that is a mile
or so up the creek. But soon after we got there we did not feel a bit
brave, for we had not been out of the ambulance more than five
minutes, when one of their criers came racing in on a very wet pony,
and rode like mad in and out among the tepees, all the time screaming
something at the top of his voice.
Instantly there was a jabbering by all of them and great commotion.
Each Indian talked and there seemed to be no one to listen. Several
tepees were taken down wonderfully quick, and a number of ponies were
hurried in, saddled, and ridden away at race speed, a few squaws
wailing as they watched them go, guns in their hands. Other squaws
stood around looking at us, and showing intense hatred through their
wicked eyes. It was soon discovered by all of us that the village was
really not attractive, and four scared women came back to the garrison
as fast as government mules could bring them! What was the cause of so
much excitement we will probably never know--and of course we should
not have gone there without an officer, and yet, what could one man
have done against all those savages!
We were honored by a visit from a chief the other day. He was a
Cheyenne from the village, presumably, and his name was White Horse.
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