body. I gave 'em all away. I wish now I had kept 'em for you."
It may be remarked in this connection that there are certain men who have a strange and mysterious gift of getting on with and conciliating Indians. I myself am one of these, and it is an hereditary endowment. There is a legend in the family that my great-grandfather more than a century ago went into Canada to trade with the Indians, and made such a favourable impression on them that they took him captive, and kept him prisoner among them all winter, merely to enjoy the pleasure of his company. In the Canadian records I find that this Mr. Leland on one occasion acted as interpreter in the French and Indian tongues. It was once remarked of me by one who had observed closely that among a number of white men Indians picked me out at sight to confide in; and it was said that I might go among the wildest tribes safely. He who said this had had great experience among them, spoke several Indian tongues, and he declared that about one white man in a hundred had the gift. Beckwourth was one of these naturally "Indian white men," and I believe that it was the real secret of his influence—a fact worth considering in reading this book.
All things considered and all due allowance being made, this Life of Beckwourth still remains, beyond all question, an extremely interesting record of a most interesting state of society, manners, and customs of classes of people who are very rapidly passing away. In this work a kind of life every whit as daring, desperate, and marvellous as that recorded in the Norse sagas, and, indeed, far more abounding in fighting and murder, is brought before us with much real skill, and yet in the simplest and most direct language. In this latter respect it deserves great commendation. I myself can testify that, having read it when it first appeared, more than thirty years after I still retained its leading incidents in my mind as I have done with those of very few other books. And as it combines the two great
