120 TRAPPING IN NORTH DAKOTA 1871. 
hospitable lodge of his Indian friends. Old Jeff Smith 
now hopelessly blind and poor, lay withering away in 
the camp of the Gros Ventres, receiving to the last with for- 
titude though a broken pride, the shafts, of enmity, in- 
gratitude and baseness, hurled from covert and rampart © 
by his vindictive rivals of the other trading houses. Then ~ 
poor old LaFrance, the year previous at the Little Mis- ~ 
souri’s mouth, had fell dead across atrap he was setting 
from a pistol shot supposed to have been the vengeful § 
work of the Aricaree, Bloody Knife. , 
These were the last of the old free trappers in that © 
section of country, and many long years had now passed 4 
since the sign of their calling had left its imprints on the 4 
soggy shore of this Lake of the Painted Woods. : 
The night followed with a moon clear faced and full, and h 
threw its silvery beams upon us as we lay in the open air © 
on our beds of brush and blankets. The breezes of the © 
day lowering with the setting sun, and the still night air { 
was crisp and frost-laden. Our camp fire cracked an ™ 
blazed high in the air and seemed a danger signal for all © 
the wild beasts within sight of its glare. . 
Elk whistled and deer snorted continously from the™ 
dense jungle between the lake and the Missouri. Every 
living thing about us seemed as sleepless as ourselves. — 
The wakeful coyote with its sharp bark and the wolf with — 
the art of a voice throwing ventriloquist help swell the 
din and confusion of sounds. ! 
Amidst all this vocal uproar, a strange and distinct 
sound now strain on our waking ears. It had the familiar 
sound of the thumping ofapassingsteamer. It seemed 
at first a good mile away but drew nearer and more dis- 
tinct. The sounds multiply, and the lake appeared to 
have become possessed by un-seen demons lashing the 
