Remembering Jerry’s remark, that Tom was a Comanche scout, I asked him if he had had much experience with that tribe.

“Consid’rable,” answered he.

“Is it a fact, that the Comanches frequently cook their meat by placing it under the saddle and riding on it all day?” asked I.

“I ’spect ’tis,” replied Tom; “leastways, I’ve seen ’em do it, and done it myself.”

“Oh! tell us all about it Tom, will you?” cried Ned.

“Wall, I don’t mind telling you about that, youngster, though I ain’t much of a story-teller.  You just wait till I get my pipe filled, and I’ll spin a yarn for you, as they used to say down in New Bedford.”

“Be gorra, now, ain’t this fun?” exclaimed Patsey, as he and Ned settled themselves in a comfortable position by the fire, to listen to—­

TOM’S STORY.

Having filled and lighted his pipe, he began.

“Six years ago this fall, I had been down to Mattamoras on the Rio Grande, and returning home, had camped for the night, in the ruins of an Old ranche on the San Saba.  Wall, I was alone and pretty tired.  I didn’t think nothin’ about Injuns, so I went ter sleep; and when I woke up I was a prisoner, with a dozen Comanches caperin’ round me.”

“I couldn’t do nothin’, ’cause they’d taken my rifle and my knife; so I jist made up my mind, that I’d better keep still and wait for my chance to come.  They tied my hands behind me, and put me on a horse.  Then we started, and I soon saw that they had been down into Mexico on a stealing expedition, and had had, good luck; for they had five scalps, and nearly a hundred head of Spanish mares, that they were a-driving home with ’em to their village, which was on the Clear Fork of the Brazos.”

“In ten days, we got to within about a mile of their home, and then we halted; and one of the braves, all painted and fixed up in regular war style, started in to let ’em know we were there.”

“Pretty soon one of their squaws came out to meet us, and then the Injuns, fixed to a long lance the five scalps they had taken, and we all started for the village, the squaw leading and carryin’ the scalp-pole, all the while singing a war-song.”

“Just before we got into their settlement we were met by a lot of the women folks, who joined in the procession.  Then we went through the village.  The squaws danced as they went along and made a great noise, singing songs about the brave deeds of their husbands and sons, who had taken so many scalps and stolen so many cattle.”

“I’d been wonderin’ all the time what they were going ter do with me.  Then we stopped before the chief’s lodge,—­Tabba-ken, or the Big Eagle, he was called,—­and they motioned for me to dismount.  I hadn’t hardly struck the ground, before I found what they were going to do with me; for would you believe it, every old squaw and pappoose in that village, that had strength enough, flew at me and commenced biting, and kicking, and scratching me.  You see I couldn’t do much, for my hands were tied, but I made up my mind that Tom Pope would die like a man, even though he never had calculated to be bit and kicked to death, by a lot of Comanche squaws.”