When he left the camp he had no idea, he said, how late it was.  By the time he approached the wagoners it was perfectly dark; and as he saw them all sitting around their fires within the circle of wagons, their guns laid by their sides, he thought he might as well give warning of his approach, in order to prevent a disagreeable mistake.  Raising his voice to the highest pitch, he screamed out in prolonged accents, “Camp, ahoy!” This eccentric salutation produced anything but the desired result.  Hearing such hideous sounds proceeding from the outer darkness, the wagoners thought that the whole Pawnee nation were about to break in and take their scalps.  Up they sprang staring with terror.  Each man snatched his gun; some stood behind the wagons; some threw themselves flat on the ground, and in an instant twenty cocked muskets were leveled full at the horrified Tete Rouge, who just then began to be visible through the darkness.

“Thar they come,” cried the master wagoner, “fire, fire! shoot that feller.”

“No, no!” screamed Tete Rouge, in an ecstasy of fright; “don’t fire, don’t!  I’m a friend, I’m an American citizen!”

“You’re a friend, be you?” cried a gruff voice from the wagons; “then what are you yelling out thar for, like a wild Injun.  Come along up here if you’re a man.”

“Keep your guns p’inted at him,” added the master wagoner, “maybe he’s a decoy, like.”

Tete Rouge in utter bewilderment made his approach, with the gaping muzzles of the muskets still before his eyes.  He succeeded at last in explaining his character and situation, and the Missourians admitted him into camp.  He got no whisky; but as he represented himself as a great invalid, and suffering much from coarse fare, they made up a contribution for him of rice, biscuit, and sugar from their own rations.

In the morning at breakfast, Tete Rouge once more related this story.  We hardly knew how much of it to believe, though after some cross-questioning we failed to discover any flaw in the narrative.  Passing by the wagoner’s camp, they confirmed Tete Rouge’s account in every particular.

“I wouldn’t have been in that feller’s place,” said one of them, “for the biggest heap of money in Missouri.”

To Tete Rouge’s great wrath they expressed a firm conviction that he was crazy.  We left them after giving them the advice not to trouble themselves about war-whoops in future, since they would be apt to feel an Indian’s arrow before they heard his voice.

A day or two after, we had an adventure of another sort with a party of wagoners.  Henry and I rode forward to hunt.  After that day there was no probability that we should meet with buffalo, and we were anxious to kill one for the sake of fresh meat.  They were so wild that we hunted all the morning in vain, but at noon as we approached Cow Creek we saw a large band feeding near its margin.  Cow Creek is densely lined with trees which intercept the view