It was a
sight that probably we will never see again. The valley was almost
black with the big animals, and there must have been hundreds and
hundreds of them on either side of the road. They seemed very
restless, and were constantly moving about instead of grazing upon the
buffalo grass, which is unusually fine along that valley, and this
made us suspect that they had been chased and hunted until the small
bands had been driven together into one big herd. Possibly the hunters
had done this themselves, so the slaughter could be the greater and
the easier. It is remarkable that such grand-looking beasts should
have so little sense as to invariably cross the road right in front of
moving teams, and fairly challenge one to make targets of them. It was
this crossing of large numbers that detained us so long yesterday.
When we got out about fifteen miles on the road, an Apache Indian
appeared, and so suddenly that it seemed as if he must have sprung up
from the ground. He was in full war dress--that is, no dress at all
except the breech clout and moccasins--and his face and whole naked
body were stained in many colors in the most hideous manner. In his
scalp lock was fastened a number of eagle feathers, and of course he
wore two or three necklaces of beads and wampum. There was nothing
unusual about the pony he was riding, except that it was larger and in
better condition than the average Indian horse, but the one he was
leading--undoubtedly his war horse--was a most beautiful animal, one
of the most beautiful I ever saw.
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