IN THE OLD WEST 137 



I draws my knife again on such varmint, I'll raise 

 his hair, as sure as shootin'. " 



Spite of the reputed dangers of the locality, 

 the trappers camped on the spot, and many a 

 draught of the delicious sparkling water they 

 quaffed in honor of the " medicine " of the fount. 

 Rube, however, sat sulky and silent, his huge 

 form bending over his legs, which were crossed, 

 Indian fashion, under him, and his long bony 

 fingers spread over the fire, which had been made 

 handy to the spring. At last they elicited from 

 him that he had sought this spot for the purpose 

 of " making medicine,''^ having been persecuted 

 by extraordinary ill-luck, even at this early period 

 of his hunt — the Indians having stolen two out 

 of his three animals, and three of his half-dozen 

 traps. He had therefore sought the springs for 

 the purpose of invoking the fountain spirits, 

 which, a perfect Indian in his simple heart, he 

 implicitly believed to inhabit their mysterious 

 waters. When the others had, as he thought, 

 fallen asleep. La Bonte observed the ill-starred 

 trapper take from his pouch a curiously-carved 

 red stone pipe, which he carefully charged with 

 tobacco and kinnik-kinnik. Then approaching 

 the spring, he walked three times round it, and 

 gravely sat himself down. Striking fire with his 

 flint and steel, he lit his pipe, and bending the 

 stem three several times towards the water, he in- 

 haled a vast quantity of smoke, and bending back 



