We told them if they were friends to stop until Thomas could come. The old fellow was so sure they were hostile Navajoes that he had got as far away as convenient, but seeing they had not fired on us he picked up courage and came to where we stood facing the Indians with our guns aimed at them. Mine was cocked, and I can well remember placing my finger on the trigger several times with dead aim at the one I supposed to be the chief. As soon as Old Thomas showed himself there was a big laugh all around at the mistake, they having mistaken us for Navajoes the same as we did them. They were on the war path hunting Navajoes who had just made a heavy raid upon them. Soon all was well, as these Indians were Utes and friendly with the guide, he having lived with this same band several years. These were the same Indians who afterwards broke up the Grand Valley or Elk Mountain settlement. During the excitement, after the Indians were recognized, an accidental shot was fired, wounding a man by the name of Tattersall severely in the leg. This came near starting a fight, as many thought it came from the Indians. I am satisfied that much blood has been shed, and many cruel wars brought on by some little act that might have been avoided. Here are two cases within a few days that seemed certain fight, and to fight meant certain death; for in those days the Indians were ten to one of us on the ground, and plenty more to come. I now come to the place where my whole feelings changed toward the Indians, and as the accident that I am about to mention seemingly had an effect on my future life, I will beg leave to write freely. From this time dates my friendship for the red man, which many think so strange. Until this time I had felt about the same as my associates did toward the natives, possibly I was not so bitter as many. There seems to be something providential in my experience so far in never having had to fight with them. I had never been required to shed their blood, and I now made up my mind I never would, if it could possibly be avoided. About the middle of August, 1850, we were camped on Green river, not far from where the Denver & Rio Grand Railway now crosses it. I shot myself accidentally; the wound was one of the most dangerous possible, not to prove fatal. When I found where the ball had entered my clothing, I took out the other pistol from the holster with the intention of "finishing the job." The ball had struck the waist button of my pants as I was standing by the side of my mule. I was placing the pistol in the holster, after saddling up, when the hammer caught on the edge of the holster, pulling it back slightly, when it slipped and went off. The ball ranged downward, entering the groin and thigh, passing through some fourteen inches of flesh. Some good spirit told me to hold on, that I would live. Almost every one in the company expressed the belief that I would die.