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Indians of the Plains.

The vicinity of the Opera Hosue was fairly
swarming with small boys yesterday afternoon.
You couldn't pass along the sidewalk
without stepping on six or nine, or knocking
over a row of them. They ranged from four
years old to twenty, but the hollering was
mostly youthful. About three o'clock, the
circus come out of the Opera House. Part
of it entered a band wagon, and the rest got
on horses. There was the handsome and
manly Buffalo Bill, the man who knocked
down Fred May in New York, several weeks
ago. He rode a horse adorned with Mexican
trappings; following him in "Indian
file" were three red men, Camanches, we
were told, attired in habiliments with more
colors than aunt Ruth's brightest rag carpet;
there were feathers on their heads and down
their backs, and war paint on their faces;
with uplifted tomahawk in one hand and a
spear in the other, these "noble representatives
of a race fast fading away," were a subject
of awe and wonder for the excited small
boys who followed the band but kept at a
safe distance from the savages; and the
source of a good opportunity for the enjoyment
by adults of the absurdly ridiculous.
Armenius Clayton Johnson was an interested
spectator and follower of the procession,
and he stated that it was his intention to
start for the plains next week.