passed twenty-five years as hunter, trapper, and trader in the West, narrated to me the following:—
"I once, as I verily believe, saved Beckwourth's life. I found him and his party nearly starved to death, and gave them supplies—food and ammunition and things which I could ill afford. (Here certain details were added which I do not now distinctly recall.)
"Well, it happened a long time after that I and my party convoyed a large waggon train over the Plains. After a while a party of Crow Indians began to 'run' us badly. They hovered about, trying to shoot and scalp our stragglers and steal our cattle, and at last things became intolerable. They were in such numbers that I feared lest they might wipe us out.
"I soon observed, from their manner of attack, that they were under command of a white man, and came to the conclusion that it must be Beckwourth. I resolved on a bold stroke. When the Indians had settled down one evening, I took my best men and rode right into their camp. As I expected, I found that Beckwourth was leader. I said to him at once—
"'Jim Beckwourth, you———' [the reader may fill this hiatus with the choicest flowers of Western phraseology], 'what do you mean by acting in this manner? The United States Government pays you two thousand dollars a year for acting as agent, and keeping your Indians quiet, and you repay it by scalping and robbing the travellers whom you are paid to protect. Have you forgotten how I once saved your life—the very last time we met? Now here I am, and our lives are in your hands, but I tell you that by God I will shoot you dead this instant if you dont call off your Indians, and make a clear way. You know very well that if you kill me it will be known far and wide, from here to Washington.'
"Then Beckwourth spoke me fair, and said that he did not know it was I, and so on. And looking about, I saw a
