TWENTY YEARS IN THE ROCKIES. 193 



CHAPTER XVIII. 



A JOURNEY TO CIVILIZATION Crow Indians and their sweethearts a long 

 trip before me on the water a retrospect more hunting a dead bear 

 antelopes buffaloes- a Crow camp frightened Indians an old friend 

 hard traveling at Fort Buford take train at Bismarck. 



It was November. Leaves of purple and gold covered 

 all the land and the bare branches of the trees waved to and 

 fro in the winds, which swept in fitful gusts through the 

 camp of a party of Crow Indians on the Little Horn River. 

 The braves had just returned from a successful hunt, their 

 ponies loaded with the choicest of meats and buffalo robes. 

 The joyous songs of the dusky maids rang through the air 

 as the young bucks deposited at their feet the fruits of the 

 chase, and the older squaws crowded around the warriors, 

 exhibiting every token of the warmest welcome. 



The more bashful maids were anxiously awaiting the 

 approach of their sweethearts, the custom being for each one 

 to take his load of meat to the tepee of the maid he loves, that 

 she may select the choicest cuts before leaving the bulk with 

 his parents. The papooses were running, and jumping, and 

 screaming, and dogs innumerable swelled the chorus. 



It was on this day that my sixteen- foot skiff, which I 

 had been working at for some time, was finished, stored full 

 of necessaries, and ready to sail. The canvas was set up- 

 right on the rear end, to form a sort of tent, that could be 

 lowered if the weather demanded. While the hubbub was 

 at its height in the Indian camp, I launched my skiff into 



