baptiste's stories. 169 



ridge of the Eocky Mountains. After resting 

 three days at the Fort, we re-crossed the river on 

 the ice, already beginning to break np, and jour- 

 neyed quietly along the northern bank, towards 

 Fort Pitt. We took two carts and two horses with 

 us, and as Baptiste was our only attendant, one of 

 us drove, while the other walked a-head to look for 

 game. The weather was beautifully bright and fine, 

 and the snow had almost gone. Flocks of ducks 

 and geese passed continually, and the whistling 

 of their wings, as they flew overhead on their way 

 northwards, went on incessantly all night, almost 

 preventing sleep. The country we passed through 

 was of the usual rich character — mingled woods, 

 rolling prairies, and lakes and streams — except for 

 one day's journey, when we crossed a bleak and 

 barren tract. This was a level plain, backed by an 

 amphitheatre of bare, rugged hills. But beyond this, 

 at a place called the Source, from a river which 

 springs out of the ground there, the country 

 resumed its former character. 



Baptiste proved, like all his race, very talkative, 

 and told us many curious ^stories, in the truth of 

 which, perhaps, not very great faith could be placed. 

 One of these tales was the following : — Many years 

 ago, but within the memory of people still living, 

 an Indian found a piece of native iron in the neigh- 

 bourhood of Edmonton, which he carried out to the 

 plains, and placed on the top of a hill. Since that 

 time it had regularly increased in size, and was now 

 so large that no man could lift it ! The only thing 



