It was the first time I had ever seen men carrying pistols and knives, and they looked like a very dangerous crowd.

Some were buying articles of merchandise; others were talking about the cholera, the various camps, and matters of interest; while others were drinking whisky freely and becoming intoxicated.

It was a busy and an exciting scene, and Rively appeared to be doing a rushing trade.
At some little distance from the store I noticed a small party of dark-skinned and rather fantastically dressed people, whom I ascertained were Indians, and as I had never before seen a real live Indian, I was much interested in them.

I went over and endeavored to talk to them, but our conversation was very limited.
That evening we reached our camp, which was located two miles west of Rively's.

The first thing I did was to hunt up my ponies, and from my father's description of them, I had no difficulty in finding them.
They were lariated in the grass and I immediately ran up to them supposing them to be gentle animals.