village of the Cheyennes; we ate a hasty meal, and started to pay them a visit.
As we approached the village we saw William Bent, an interpreter, entering before us. He visited the chief's lodge; we followed him in, and seated ourselves near him. He looked aghast, and addressed me: "My God! Beckwourth, how dare you come among the Cheyennes? Don't you know that they will kill you if they discover you?"
I replied that I thought not.
He had come on the same errand as ourselves, namely, to induce a portion of the village to remove to the Platte, as buffalo were abundant in that region. After a conversation was held between Bent and the chief, the latter inquired of Bent who we were. He informed him that we were Left Hand's (Sublet's) men.
"What do they want here?" he asked.
"They come for the same purpose that I have," Bent answered, "to have you move on to the Platte."
Bent then inquired of me what account I wished to give of myself, as he would interpret for me; but, preferring to interpret for myself, I asked if their was a Crow among them that I could speak to. At the word "Crow" they all started, and every eye was riveted upon me.
One stepped forward, and said, "I am a Crow."
"You a Crow?"
"Yes."
"How long have you been away from them?"
"Twenty winters."
Bent was in the greatest perplexity. "You are not surely going to tell them who you are, Jim? If you do, you'll cost your friends nothing for your funeral."
This apprehension on the part of Bent proved to me that, although he had lived among the Indians, he had still much to learn of their real character. I therefore requested him to quiet his fears and bide the result.
Turning to the Crow, I then said, "Tell the Cheyennes that I have fought them many winters; that I have killed so many of their people that I am buried with their scalps; I have taken a host of their women and children prisoners; I have ridden
