However, I was
not then aware that I was so distinguished a guest, as indeed
neither I nor Mr. Hughes would have been had we not been in the
company of Kit Carson. With him we shone by reflected greatness.
While we were out on our walk about the village, Black Buffalo's
cook was preparing this distinguishing feast for us.
I had kept unusually quiet all the time we were among the Indians,
not even asking one question, which was very remarkable in me. For
I presume that on the journey I had asked more questions to the
lineal mile than any boy ever had before.
But I ate the dog in silence and liked it. Of course I had no idea
what the meat was. So, Uncle Kit observing the gusto with which I
was devouring dog, asked me if I knew what the meat was. I told
him that I did not, but supposed it to be antelope, or buffalo. He
informed me that it was neither, but good, healthy dog.
I thought he was joking, and simply replied that it was mighty
good meat, even if it was dog, and gave the matter no further
reflection, at the time.
The next day, when Uncle Kit and Mr. Hughes assured me that it was
really dog meat, we had eaten the night before, I felt very much
like throwing up everything I had eaten at the village, but it was
too late then.
After supper, that night in the Indian village, we had what was
called a "peace smoke.
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