12 ON THE FEOXTIER. 



a fearful yell, there dashed out of the darkness into the 

 circle of light a horrid and fantastic figure a Pottowat- 

 tomie brave. He seemed all paint, feathers, and loose 

 ends ; and, as he drew up, almost threw on his haunches 

 the fine gray horse that bore him. There stood the gallant 

 steed, his nostrils dilating, his eyes flashing, his whole 

 frame quivering, his tail tucked, and his long mane and 

 gaudy trappings streaming out on the wind. The lider 

 was % drunk very drunk. His drawn hunting-knife was in 

 his hand, and, flourishing it over his head, he expressed 

 aloud most unfavourable opinions of whites in general, and 

 ourselves in particular, ending with an emphatic declaration 

 of instant hostilities. 



Instinctively our hands sought our revolvers ; but Jack 

 cried out : " Don't shoot, for goodness' sake ! I'll settle 

 him." And settle him he did. Down on the ground went 

 the " pome ; " into the bed of charcoal went the shovel ; 

 right into the Indian's face Jack let him have it. The hot 

 ashes blinded the Pottowattomie's eyes, filled his open 

 mouth, and started his greasy locks into a blaze. He 

 dropped the reins to rub the coals and dust out of his eyes, 

 and, his horse driven frantic by burns, dashed into the dark- 

 ness ; and that Indian's face we saw no more. 



The day following the Pottowattomie's unceremonious 

 visit we arrived at St. Mary's Mission, the oldest mission in 

 the West. St. Mary's is an establishment of French 

 Catholic ecclesiastics, and there is quite a settlement of 

 converts and their descendants round it. We found before 

 us the brightest, neatest, most charming little picture of 

 the kind we had ever seen. The quaint chapel, the long, 



