It is one of the remarkable tactics of this remarkable people, in military emergencies, that when they can not put distance between them and the enemy, they must substitute _something_ else. A single trooper, on an open plain, could send a small army of them scampering off, but let them get behind a barricade, and they will continue banging away with their old muskets until either the weapon bursts or ammunition gives out. It is surprising how harmless their fusillades generally are. If Mexican powder is used, it goes off like a mixture of lamp-black and nitro-glycerine, with a premonitory fiz and then a fearful concussion, leaving a smell of burnt oil in the air which overcomes for a moment the natural aroma of the warriors themselves.
But while we were still being run away with by our spirited animals, another change occurred in the situation equally as unexpected as the first. The Indians had stopped running about the time that we commenced, and now stood in a dusky line something less than half a mile off, making signs to us. Shamus evidently considered it a horrible incantation for his scalp, and every time he looked backward plied with renewed fervor at his donkey's ribs. Our guide, who had stayed with the wagons and exerted himself to silence the Mexican batteries, motioned us to return, which we were finally enabled to do by virtue of steady pulling upon one rein and coming back in half circles.
By the time our cook reached us, out of breath and perspiring terribly, two savages had ridden out from their band, weaponless, and were now gesturing a wish to communicate. The Professor and our guide rode to meet them, apparently unarmed; but with characteristic exhibition of the white man's subtlety, the tail-pocket of the philosopher's coat held a pistol in reserve, and the guide, I have no doubt, was equally well provided.
WHITE WOLF, THE CHEYENNE CHIEF--HUNGRY INDIANS--RETURN TO HAYS--A CHEYENNE WAR PARTY--THE PIPE OF PEACE--THE COUNCIL CHAMBER--WHITE WOLF'S SPEECH, AS RENDERED BY SACHEM--THE WHITE MAN'S WIGWAM.
About midway between our party and the dusky group that stood watching us the four embassadors met. The Indians proved to be a band of Cheyennes, under White Wolf, or, as he is more frequently called, Medicine Wolf, out on the war-path against the Pawnees. The Wolf was a fine-looking man, six feet four in height, straight as an arrow, and developed like a giant. Being a chief, he possessed the regalia and warranty deed of one, consisting of a ragged military coat without any tail, and a dirty letter from some Indian agent, with a lie in it over which even a Cheyenne must have smiled, telling how White Wolf loved the whites. Perhaps he did; his namesake loves spring lamb.