shameless self promotion, 3.1 in a series
Izzy Bird, Plum Creek weirdos

Izzy Bird, the street of Denver

Isabella paints a picture of what walking through the Denver streets is like.

There is a large number of Indians,* for starters, which is something you don’t often see in Edinburgh. They were Utes and “Governor Hunt introduced me to a fine-looking chief, very well dressed in beaded hide, and bespoke his courtesy for me if I needed it.

“The crowds in the streets, perhaps owing to the snow on the ground, were almost solely masculine. I only saw five women the whole day. There were men in every rig: hunters and trappers in buckskin clothing; men of the Plains with belts and revolvers, in great blue cloaks, relics of the war;** teamsters in leathern suits; horsemen in fur coats and caps and buffalo hide boots with the hair outside, and camping blankets behind their huge Mexican saddles; Broadway dandies in light kid gloves; rich English sporting tourists, clean, comely, and supercilious looking; and hundreds of Indians on their small ponies, the men wearing buckskin suits sewn with beads, and red blankets, with faces painted vermillion and hair hanging lank and straight, and squaws much bundled up, riding astride with furs over their saddles.”

* This was way before the idea of “Indigenous People.”

** I keep forgetting that the Civil War wasn’t all that long ago when Isabella was there. I mean, it’s really not that long ago even now, given that we never resolved anything beyond the surface of racism.

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