was mighty good meat, even if it was dog, and gave the matter no further reflection, at the time.
The next day, when Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes assured me that it was really dog meat, we had eaten the night before, I felt very much like throwing up everything I had eaten at the village, but it was too late then.
After supper, that night in the Indian village, we had what was called a "peace smoke." The Chief selected about a dozen of his braves, and all being seated in a circle, two of our party on one side of the Chief, and Uncle Kit at his right, a pipe was lit and the Chief took one whiff, the smoke of which he blew up into the air. He then took another whiff, and turning to his chief guest, handed him the pipe, who blew a whiff into the air and the second one into the face of the host. This performance having been gone through with for each guest, the Chief then handed the pipe to the first Indian on his right, and thus it went around the circle, each Indian blowing a whiff into the air.
It was considered a great breach of etiquette to speak, or even smile, during this ceremony.
This Indian village was situated at Pawnee Rock, on the Arkansas river, in a beautiful valley, in what is now the southwest corner of Benton Co., Kan. The wick-i-ups were made of poles set on ends, gathered together at the top, and covered with buffalo skins from which the hair had been removed.
The Kiowas were, at that time, the most numerous tribe of Indians in the United States.
Early the next morning after our dog-feast and peace-smoke, our party was up and off, and I was particularly
