128 LAKE MANDAN. 
the trees and amuse ourselves by cooking supper and 
cracking jokes at our predicament at being ‘‘put affoot’’ 
on the breezy strands of Lake Mandan. 
In the midst of our bandying the bright glare of 
the fire shot out into the darkness, and lo ared painted 
Indian stood with his gun barrel bared, and lying across 
his left arm with his right hand gripping the lock. 
‘‘Hlas the Pawnee Talker lived so long among wild 
people and yet learned no lesson in his experience with 
them,’’ spoke the Indian as interpreted from his Arica- 
ree tongue. 
The apparition had startled us; but the tone reassured 
us. It was the voice of Partisan the Wanderer. 
‘‘Has the Pawnee Talker been taught no lesson by 
the Sioux or Cheyennes. Has he never learned that it 
is bad to build fires near trees in the enemy’s country 
inthe night. See! Every tree about you now isa 
lantern, and can be seen from afar. Put out your fire 
or move camp.’’ 
By this time two more Indians appeared and each 
one held a lariat in his hand. 
‘“We have brought back your ponies,” again spoke 
the Partisan, ‘‘watch them closely or some Sioux will 
be riding them off.” ; 
The Partisan and his companions were then invited 
to share a pot of coffee with us, immediately after which 
they stepped out into the darkness and disappeared. 
In the center of Lake Mandan, with its growth of 
sand ridge cottonwood—with a black eagle’s nest on the 
oldest and tallest—stands out in bold front the Haunted 
Island. An Indian mermaid once floated here to beguile 
