Thirty-five miles before arriving at Bent's Fort, at which point the Old Trail crossed the Arkansas, the valley widens and the prairie falls toward the river in gentle undulations. There for many years the three friendly tribes of plains Indians--Cheyennes, Arapahoes, and Kiowas--established their winter villages, in order to avail themselves of the supply of wood, to trade with the whites, and to feed their herds of ponies on the small limbs and bark of the cottonwood trees growing along the margin of the stream for four or five miles. It was called Big Timbers, and was one of the most eligible places to camp on the whole route after leaving Council Grove. The grass, particularly on the south side of the river, was excellent; there was an endless supply of fuel, and cool water without stint. In the severe winters that sometimes were fruitful of blinding blizzards, sweeping from the north in an intensity of fury that was almost inconceivable, the buffalo too congregated there for shelter, and to browse on the twigs of the great trees. The once famous grove, though denuded of much of its timber, may still be seen from the car windows as the trains hurry mountainward. Garrard, in his _Taos Trail_, presents an interesting and amusing account of a visit to the Cheyenne village with old John Smith, in 1847, when the Santa Fe trade was at its height, and that with the various tribes of savages in its golden days. Toward the middle of the day, the village was in a great bustle. Every squaw, child, and man had their faces blackened--a manifestation of joy.[44] Pell-mell they went--men, squaws, and dogs--into the icy river. Some hastily jerked off their leggings, and held moccasins and dresses high out of the water. Others, too impatient, dashed the stream from beneath their impetuous feet, scarce taking time to draw more closely the always worn robe. Wondering what caused all this commotion, and looking over the river, whither the yelling, half-frantic savages were so speedily hurrying, we saw a band of Indians advancing toward us. As the foremost braves reined their champing barbs on the river-bank, mingled whoops of triumph and delight and the repeated discharge of guns filled the air. In the hands of three were slender willow wands, from the smaller points of which dangled as many scalps-- the single tuft of hair on each pronouncing them Pawnees.[45]