IN THE OLD WEST 283 



looking gravely on, waiting patiently for some 

 chance offal to be cast outside. Against the walls, 

 groups of Indians too proud to enter without an 

 invitation, lean, wrapped in their buffalo-robes, 

 sulky and evidently ill at ease to be so near the 

 whites without a chance of fingering their scalp- 

 locks; their white lodges shining in the sun, at a 

 little distance from the riverbanks — their horses 

 feeding in the plain beyond. 



The appearance of the fort is very striking, 

 standing as it does hundreds of miles from any 

 settlement, on the vast and lifeless prairie, sur- 

 rounded by hordes of hostile Indians, and far out 

 of reach of intercourse with civilized man; its 

 mud-built walls inclosing a little garrison of a 

 dozen hardy men, sufficient to hold in check the 

 numerous tribes of savages ever thirsting for their 

 blood. Yet the solitary stranger passing this lone 

 fort feels proudly secure when he comes within 

 sight of the Stars and Stripes which float above 

 the walls. 



