Mounted warriors rode out to meet Beckwourth and by signs demanded his arms, which he gave up, knife and all. In the village, a crowd of all ages scowled and gawked as he was escorted to a large tipi. At its entrance were several scalps, twisting ominously in the breeze on their willow frames. He was thrust past them and into the darkness. Once his eyes had adjusted, his greatest fear was allayed. There, seated next to what was obviously the chief, glared Crooked Smile. These were River Crow, likely friendly, or at least so disposed in the right circumstance. The chief wore an elaborately decorated leather shirt, made frightful by its fringe of human hair. He wore a large silver medal around his neck, which Beckwourth also took to be a good sign. These were presented to chiefs who vowed fr
