It so happened that the writer, several years after these events occurred, visited the camp where this pestilence reigned in its full vigor.  The site of this camp was very beautiful.  Perhaps it was this, aided by other circumstances, which caused the red men to select it as a refuge for their sick.  The place is located on the west side of the Valley of San Luis, and is about midway between its upper and lower extremes.  Two mountain streams have so joined as to form a peninsula of tableland which is well shaded by cotton-wood trees.  This ground, when the writer saw it, was literally strewn with the bleached bones of the Indian victims who had died from the scourge.  As we lifted up one skull and another, the thought struck us that, perhaps, we might have touched the bones which once belonged to the famous chief, Chico Velasques, of whom we have before spoken, as it was here that he died.  Had we done so knowingly, on account of that man’s many cruel deeds, a thrill of horror must have run through our veins.  The funeral rites of the dead among the Indians were clearly exemplified here.

Whatever may be these rites observed among the Indians on the west side of the Rocky Mountains, I am satisfied that most of the tribes of Indians on the east side of this same range, use but few, if any, imposing ceremonies in committing the body to the dust.  It is very difficult to find the bones of an Indian on the plains, and therefore I believe, and herein I am assisted by the observations of experienced men, that these Indians burn their dead bodies when they can do so, or completely hide them in the mountains by covering them with rocks, so that it is impossible to find them.  Such a course would also serve the purpose of preventing the wolves from digging them up.  The high-colored novels, referred to heretofore, which have, during the past few years, had for their theme the Indian race, love to dwell on the imposing and affecting spectacle of an Indian burial.  When stripped of fancy, the truth is, that beyond the lamenting of a few hysterical squaws and the crackling of the flames of the funeral pile, there is little else done that is noticeable.

But to return to results of the council.  The Indians naturally enough, argued and persuaded themselves that these presents were intended as poisonous destroyers, and that they had been steeped in contagion for that end.  It wanted but the happening of this affair, or a similar one, to destroy the small amount of confidence which the superintendent had hitherto enjoyed with these savages.  While they were secretly preparing for war, they anxiously inquired of the traders who came among them, what was transpiring in regard to the Mexican prisoners who had wantonly murdered their brave.  On each separate occasion they were answered with intelligence that did not in the least satisfy them.  They, therefore, renewed their energies in order soon to be ready to take the redress in their own hands.  Kit Carson apprehended difficulty,