LIFE IN THE FAR WEST. 105 



watered by Vermilion Creek, and in wliich abundance of buffalo, 

 elk, deer, and antelope fed and fattened on the rich grass, La 

 Bonte raised his lodge, employing himself in hunting, and fully oc- 

 cupying his wives' time in dressing the skins of the many animals 

 he killed. Here he enjoyed himself amazingly until the com- 

 mencement of winter, when he determined to cross to the North 

 Fork and trade his skins, of which he had now as many packs as 

 his animals could carry. It happened that he one day left his 

 camp to spend a couple of days hunting buffalo in the mountains, 

 whither the bulls were now resorting, intending to " put out" for 

 Platte on his return. His hunt, hoAvever, led him farther into the 

 mountains than he anticipated, and it was only on the third day 

 that sundown saw him enter the little valley where his camp was 

 situated. 



Crossing the creek, he was not a little disturbed at seeing fresh 

 Indian sign on the opposite side, which led in the direction of his 

 lodge ; and his worst fears were realized when, on coming within 

 sight of the little plateau where the conical top of his white lodge 

 had always before met his view, he saw nothing but a blackened 

 mass strewing the ground, and the burnt ends of the poles which 

 had once supported it. 



Squaws, animals, and peltry, all were gone — an Arapaho moc- 

 casin lying on the ground told him where. He neither fumed nor 

 fretted, but, throwing the meat off his pack animal, and the sad- 

 dle from his horse, he collected the blackened ends of the lodge poles 

 and made a fire — led his beasts to water and hobbled them, threw 

 a piece of buffalo meat upon the coals, squatted down before the 

 fire, and lit his pipe. La Bonte was a true philosopher. Not- 

 withstanding that his house, his squaws, his peltries, were gone 

 " at one fell swoop," the loss scarcely disturbed his equanimity ; 

 and before the tobacco in his pipe was half smoked out he had 

 ceased to think of his misfortune. Certes, as he turned his apolla 

 of tender-loin, he sighed as he thought of the delicate manipula- 



