It gave us no pleasure to see our wagons overhauled, ransacked and destroyed. Spokes were cut from the buggy wheels and used as whip handles. We did not appreciate the fact that the Indians seemed to enjoy the confiscated property. One young chap dashed past us with several yards of pink mosquito bar tied to his horse's tail. A fine strip of swansdown, a trophy from Henry Lake, which an ugly old Indian had wrapped around his head turban fashion, did not please me either.
While this was all going on, Frank Carpenter was looking for who was in charge with the hope that something could be done about the situation.
While the boys are busy saddling up, I propose that I ride ahead and see if I cannot see Looking Glass and White Bird, and get the party out of this scrape.
The problem is whereas one chief might be willing to talk the other might not stop his warriors from killing the tourists.
Whatever now happened to their lives, I could not help. I did not tell them go see the chiefs. It was their own mind their own work that they were going. They heard me say the Indians were double-minded in what they can do.