"Por Dios, amigo, amigo!"
cried the frightened Indian, holding up his hands. "No tengo dinero!"
(I have no money. Don't shoot!) he begged, speaking to me in Spanish.
Then I went to him and learned that he belonged to a wagon train,
traveling just ahead of us. He was a full-blood Navajo, who had been
made captive in a Mexican raid into the Navajo country. The Mexicans
used to capture many Navajo pappooses and bring them up as bond
servants or peons. This Indian told me that he had been following the
same band of antelopes as myself, and on passing a beautiful hill of
red ants, he yielded to temptation and thought he would have his
clothes examined and laundered by the ants. These little insects are
really very accommodating and work without remuneration. At the same
time he likewise took a sun bath on the same liberal terms. This
episode made me famous with every Spanish freighter over the Santa Fe
trail, from Kansas into New Mexico.
Just before we reached the Cimarron country, which is very hilly and
is drained by the Red River, and where we were out of all danger from
Indians, I had a narrow escape from death. I was in the lead of our
train and had crossed a muddy place in the road. I drove on without
noticing that I was leaving the other teams far behind.
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