I walked up to the unhappy prisoner, whose looks betrayed the keenest anguish, and addressed him in English.
"How are you, my friend?"
He started as if electrified, and looked me closely in the face.
"What brought you here?" I continued.
"I was brought here by these Indians, who killed my companion while we were building a fire to warm ourselves. I suppose I am brought here to be killed also?"
"No, my friend," I said, "you are safe. The Crows never kill white men."
"Are these Crows?"
"Yes."
"Well, well! Then you must be Mr. Beckwourth?"
"Yes, that is my name. And now, without the least fear of danger, relate the occurrence fairly: if my warriors have killed a white man intentionally, they shall be punished."
He then related how he and his companion went into the cañon, and how they made a fire to render themselves comfortable away from the Indian camp; how that their robes were over their heads, entirely concealing their faces from view, and that he felt fully confident that my warriors, in firing on them, had mistaken them for Indians.
"Well," I said, "since the mistake is so apparent, you will greatly serve me to make the same statement to your companions when you return to your camp; for the Crows are entirely innocent of any design to shed the blood of the white man, and it would be deplorable for any misunderstanding to arise in consequence of this lamentable occurrence."
"I shall make a fair statement of the fact," he said, "and should be very sorry to be the means of any trouble."
He then informed me that he and his late companion were trappers; that his party were in winter-quarters, and encamped with the main body of the Snakes; and that they had come out with this party after meat. I then gave him my reasons for attacking the Snakes, and begged him to commend me to all the old mountaineers.
"There is not a day passes," he said, "but some one mentions you, to wonder where you are, and what you are
