When I came home my wife told me of this threat. She seemed a little concerned for my welfare, but her faith was always with mine; so we decided that it would be best for me to go at once and put a stop to this feeling. I got on my horse and went alone some three miles to their camp. Most of the Indians were gathered together. As I approached none spoke; all were sullen. This confirmed to me the truth of the squaw's report, as the Indians generally met me in a friendly manner. I went directly to the subject; told them what I had heard, saying to them that I had no fears of their killing me and that there was no use for them to entertain any such feeling towards me, for I was their friend and teaching them the truth, and that God would protect me. I again talked to them a long time and finally seemed to gain some influence. The Pimas had also been guilty of the same practice. When I heard of this I took a good interpreter and went to their camp, which was across the river among the old settlers not of our colonizers. I had to labor long and hard before getting any satisfactory results. The old chief acknowledged that they had killed one witch and had almost killed another, who had recovered, and that they were then doctoring him to cure him, so that all hands could turn out and "kill him better." I asked how they knew these men were witches. The answer was that the "doctor" had pointed them out. I asked to see this "doctor" This was declined. I insisted, telling the chief that I would neither befriend him nor his people, nor talk to them about anything more until this "doctor" was shown me. This the old fellow did not like; for I had done them much good already, and was continually watching and protecting their interests. They all knew this and appreciated the same. Numbers of the old men gathered around, chatting together. I continued to repeat my request to see the "doctor." Finally, he was brought out. I managed, after talking a long time, to really convince these Indians that it was wrong to believe in witches or, at least, to kill them. They agreed to quit the practice and I had reason to believe that they were partially converted, at least, for the poor fellow, who had been almost killed, came to my ranch a few weeks after this. He was terribly banged up; but, as soon as he could possibly travel, he came to let me know that I had saved him; that his people had agreed not to kill him, and that he would always call himself my boy, as I had saved his life. Many persons were jealous of my influence with the natives and wondered how I managed to obtain so much power over them. I simply acted as a friend; and the Indians knew this. One circumstance I will relate that will explain a little of this power. There was one of our white settlers who had lost his only cow. She was running on the river bottom, near the Indian camp. At the time this occurred the commander at McDowell was Captain Norval, a rather impetuous officer.