the entrances, and that his tribe
must starve.

The old trappers and plainsmen themselves, even as early as the
beginning of the Santa Fe trade, noticed the gradual disappearance of
the buffalo, while they still existed in countless numbers. One veteran
French Canadian, an employee of the American Fur Company, way back in
the early '30's, used to mourn thus: "Mais, sacre! les Amarican, dey go
to de Missouri frontier, de buffalo he ron to de montaigne; de trappaire
wid his fusil, he follow to de Bayou Salade, he ron again. Dans les
Montaignes Espagnol, bang! bang! toute la journee, toute la journee, go
de sacre voleurs. De bison he leave, parceque les fusils scare im vara
moche, ici la de sem-sacre!"

CHAPTER XIII. INDIAN CUSTOMS AND LEGENDS.

Thirty-five miles before arriving at Bent's Fort, at which point the
Old Trail crossed the Arkansas, the valley widens and the prairie falls
toward the river in gentle undulations. There for many years the
three friendly tribes of plains Indians--Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and
Kiowas--established their winter villages, in order to avail themselves
of the supply of wood, to trade with the whites, and to feed their herds
of ponies on the small limbs and bark of the cottonwood trees growing
along the margin of the stream for four or five miles. It was called Big
Timbers, and was one of the most eligible places to camp on the whole
route after leaving Council Grove. The grass, particularly on the south
side of the river, was excellent; there was an endless supply of fuel,
and cool water without stint.

In the severe winters that sometimes were fruitful of blinding
blizzards, sweeping from the north in an intensity of fury that was
almost inconceivable, the buffalo too congregated there for shelter, and
to browse on the twigs of the great trees.

The once famous grove, though denuded of much of its timber, may still
be seen from the car windows as the trains hurry mountainward.

Garrard, in his _Taos Trail_, presents an interesting and amusing
account of a visit to the Cheyenne village with old John Smith, in 1847,
when the Santa Fe trade was at its height, and that with the various
tribes of savages in its golden days.

Toward the middle of the day, the village was in a great
bustle. Every squaw, child, and man had their faces
blackened--a manifestation of joy.[44]

Pell-mell they went--men, squaws, and dogs--into the ic