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The following diagrams illustrate the method: Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre film6s d des taux de reduction diff^rents. Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre reproduit en un seul clich6. il est filmd d partir de Tangle sup6rieur gauche, de gauche d droite, et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre d'images n6cessaire. Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mdthode. errata i to e pelure, ;on d n 32X 1 2 3 1 2 3 ; - ♦ - >- 6 » r :if :^; '•Forbear," I cried, striking up the levelled barrel. Frontispiece. ■^._- w^^ RED CLOUD, THE SOLITARY SIOUX. 51 gtori) of the (Great jpvaivic. BY LIEUT.-COLONEL BUTLER, C.B. AUTHOR OF "THE GREAT LONE LAND," "THE WILD NORTH LAND," ETC., ETC. NEW AXD CHEAPER EDITION. " \AVc a wind, that shrills All night in a waste land, where no one coinej. Or hath come, since the making of the world." Tennyton, LONDON SAMPSON LOW, MARSTON, SEARLE, & RIVINGTON Limited |»t. 5it"slrtn'8 Jjouse Fetter Lane, Fleet Street, E.G. i8S8 [All ri^/iis n'sa-veJ'] Frontispiece. I UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME, With numerous Illustrations, is. td. \ gilt edges, 3*. td. each. THE TWO SUPERCARGOES. By W. H. G. Kingston. DICK CHEVELEY. By W. H. G. Kingston. THE HEIR OF KILFINNAN. By W. H. G. King- ston. OFF TO THE WILDS. By G. Manvii.le Fenn. THE SILVER CANON. By G. Manville Fenn. UNDER THE METEOR FLAG. By Harry Colling- WOOI). JACK ARCHER: A Tale of the Crimea. ByG.A. Henty. THE MUTINY ON BOARD THE SHIP " LEANDER." By B. Helumann. WITH AXE AND RIFLE ON THE WESTERN PKAIUIKS. By W. H. G. Kingstj).m. RED CLOUD, THE SOLITARY SIOUX: A Tale of the Great Prairie. By Col. Sir William Butlee, K.C.B. THE CRUISE OF THE AURORA. By Harrv COLLINGWOOD. CHARMOUTH GRANGE: A Tale of the Seventeenth Century. By J. Percy Groves. SNOWSHOES AND CANOES. By W. H.G. Kingston. THE SON OF THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE. By Louis ROUSSRLET. To be/oliffivtd by othert. LONDON : SAMPSON LOW. MARSTON, SEARLE,& RIVINGTON, Limited, St. Dunstan's Housk, Fettfr Lane. Fleet Strhet, E.C i CONTENTS. CHAPTER I. PACB Our home in Glencar— A glimpse at the outside world— My parents — My schoolmasters— Donogh — Cooma-sa-hnrn —The eagle's nest—" The eagle is coming back to the nest" — Alone in the world— I start for the Great Prairie — Good-bye to Glencar i CHAPTER II. Sunset in the wilds— Our first camp— Outlooks— The soli- tary Sioux— Losses— The Sioux again— A new departure —The cache at the Souri— The story of Red Cloud— The red man's offer 28 CHAPTER III. To the West— Wapiti in sight— A stalk— A grand run— The sand-hills in sight— The finish— A noble beast— A gorgeous sunset— A vast landscape— The Hills of Life and Death .^ CHAPTER IV. We reach the hills of the Wolverine— Somethinicte The solitary Sioux . 33 The Sioux was now almost at the flank of the wapiti (^^ WAirHINO AN opportunity, THE TRADER ADDRESSED THE leader of the BAND g^ Firing the prairie grass 120 \\K liOTII SPRANG TO OUR FEET, AND RAN WITH ALL SPEED towards the animals ,68 Strange footprints 2, I STRUCK the iron BUTT HEAVILY DOWN UPON THE trader's HEAD ... «-_ 277 RED CLOUD, THE SOLITARY SIOUX, CHAPTER I. Our home in Glencar — A glimpse at the outside world — My parents — My schoolmasters — Donogh — Cooma-sa-harn — The eagle's nest — " The eagle is coming back to the nest " — Alone in the world — I start for the Great Prairie — Good-bye to Glencar. Far back as I can remember anything I can remember our cottage in Glencar. It was a small thatched house, with plenty of June roses and white jessamine trailing over two sides of it, through wooden trellis-work. The ground rose steeply behind the house, until the trees that covered it gave place to scattered clumps of holly bushes, which finally merged into open mountain, heather-covered, and sprinkled here and there with dwarf furze bushes. In front of the cottage the little lawn sloped downwards to a stream, the B Red Cloud. bed of which was strewn with great boulders of rock, which were bare and dry in summer, but in winter scarcely showed over the surface. Between the big rocks there were poo^s and shallows, in which trout rose briskly at the midges in the early summer evenings. Whenever I think of that cot- tage home now, it seems to me to be always sunshine there. There must have been dark days, and wet ones, too, but I can't call them to mind. There was a large flat rock in the middle of the lawn half way down to the stream ; one end of this rock was imbedded in the earth, the other leant out from the ground, giving shelter underneath. The only dark thing I can remember about the whole place was that hollow under the big stone. I used to sit in there on the very hot days, looking out across the stream upon the one road that led from the outer world into Glcncar. When the weather was not too warm I lay on the top of the rock, looking at the same view. The road came into the glen ever a hill that was four miles distant from our cottage ; you could see the white streak crossing the crest of ridge, flanked on each side by the dark heather mountain. You caught sight of the road again as it came down the hillside, and here and there at turns, as it wound along the valley to the old five-arched bridge over the Carragh river, and then disappeared around the hill on which our cottage stood. When in the summer days I used to lie on the rock, or beneath its shadows, I was always thinking of the country A glimpse at the outside ivorld. that lay beyond the boundary ridge, the land to v.hich the white road led when it dipped down behind the hill : that was the outside world to me, the glen was the inside one. As I grew older I came to know more of the outside world ; I was able to climb higher up the steep hill behind the house, to get beyond the holly bushes out into the heather, and at last one day I reached the mountain-top itself. That was a great event in my life. It took me a long while to get up ; the last bit was very steep ; I had to sit down often amid the rocks and heather for want of breath. At last I gained the summit, and sank down quite exhausted on an old weather-beaten flat rock ; I was just ten years old that day. Thirty years have gone by since then. I have climbed many a lofty mountain, lain down for weeks alone in forests and on prairies, but never have I felt so proudly conscious of success as 1 did that day. It was my first view of the outside world. How vast it seemed to me. The glen, my world, lay below, winding away amid the hills. Ail the streams, all the lakes, were unfolded to my sight, and out beyond the boundary ridge was the great open country. That was on one side — the glen side ; but as I turned round to look beyond the mountain I had come up, I saw a sight that filled me with utter astonishment. Below me on that side there lay another glen, smaller than ours ; then the hill rose again, but not to the height of the ridge on which I stood ; and then, beyond the hill, there spread a great, vast 6 a Red Cloud, I; I waste of blue water— out — out, until I could see no more, where the sky came down upon it — the end of the world. It was the sea ! It was getting dark when I reached home that day. I went straight to my mother. " Mother," I said, " I have been to the top of Coolrue, and have seen the end of the world." I was fearfully tired; I had fallen over rocks coming down, and was bruised and torn ; but what did it matter ? From that day forth the glen seemed a small place to m^, and my mind was ever at work shaping plans for the future. About this time I began to read well. There were many old books in our cottage — books of travel and adventure, books of history, and one large old atlas that had maps of every country in the world in it, and in the corner of each map there was a picture of the people of the land, or of some wonderful mountain, or waterfall in it. I read all these books in the long winter evenings j and many a time I sat poring over the maps, moving my finger up a long waving line of river, and travelling in fancy from island to island in the ocean. And now I must say something about the inmates of our home. They were few. There was my mother, one old ser- vant woman, and an old man who kept the garden tilled, drove in the cow at nightfall, and took care of everything. In truth there wasn't much to be taken care of. We were My paretits. very poor, and we were all the poorer because we had once been rich — at least my mother had been. My father had died before I could remember him. His picture hung over the fireplace in our little parlour ; and I caii almost say that I do remember him, because the picture is confused in my mind with the reality, and I have a dim recollection of a man, tall, pale, and dark haired ; but I can't add to it voice or action ; it is only a vague kind of shadow. I was four years old when he died. When I was seven years old my mother began to tell me about him. She used to sit often in the winter evenings looking at his picture ; and as I sat at her feet, and she spoke of the old times, and how brave and honourable he was, I remember her voice used to tremble, and sometimes she would stop altogether. As I grew older I learned more about him. I heard how we had first com.e to Glencar. It had been a favourite spot with my father in his early days, and whenever he could get leave of absence he used to come to it, for the lakes held plenty of trout, and the mountains had snipe, woodcock, and grouse upon them. After my father's marriage he had built the cottage. My mother was as fond of the glen as he was, and they used to come here for two or three months every year. When they had been three years married my father's regiment was ordered to India. My mother went too. I was only two years old at the time. When we reached Indis Red Cloud. \ i •■ h ! the regiment was ordered up country, for war had broken out. At the battle of MooLlkee my father was severely wounded. After a while he was able to be moved down to the coast, where my mother had remained when the regi- ment went on service. From the coast he was invalided to England. The voyage home was a long one. We arrived in England in the end of summer. The autumn and winter came. The cold told severely upon my father's weakened state, and when spring arrived it was evident he had but a short time to live. He wished to see Glencar again. With much difficulty he was brought to the cottage, to die. In the upper end of the glen there was a wild secluded lake called Lough Cluen. A solitary island stood under the shadow of a tall mountain wall which overhangs the lake on one side. The island is little more than a rock, with yew- trees and ivy growing over it. A ruined church, half hidden in the trees, stood on this rock. It was my father's grave. He had wished to be buried in this lonely island, and his wish was carried out. The little cottage, a few acres of land, the rugged moun- tain and the stream — now formed, with my mother's scanty pension, all our worldly possessions. Here, then, we took up our residence, and here I grew up, as I have already described— the glen my world ; the mountain, lake, and stream my daily playground* My schoolmasters '5B About a mile from our cottage there lived an old pen- sioner, who, forty years earlier, had followed Wellington from the Tagus to Toulouse. He had served his full term of twenty-one years, and being at the time of his discharge a staff-sergeant, his pension was sufficient to secure him a comfortable home for the rest of his days. He had a few acres of land around his cottage. He was the best angler in the glen. He was ray earliest friend and guide with rod and gun on river, lake, and mountain side. Sergeant MacMahon, formerly of her Majesty's 40th Regi- ment, was, when I knew him, a man who had passed his sixtieth year. Yet time, despite a score years of fighting and exposure, had dealt lightly with the old soldier, who still stood as straight as the ramrod he had so often driven home upon the bullet of his firelock. From him I got my first lessons in other things besides fishing and shooting. He taught me the " extension motions," the " balance step without gaining ground," the manual and platoon exercises, and the sword exercise. He also showed me the method of attack and defence with the bayonet. He had the battles of the Peninsula by heart, and day after day did he pour forth his descriptions of how Busaco was won, and how Fuentes d'Onore had been decided, and how Lord Wellington had outmarched " Sowlt," as he used to call him, at Pampeluna, or had out-manoeuvred Marmont at Torres Vedras. His personal adventures were told in 8 Red Cloud. another style. He had stories of bivouac — " bivoocing " he used to call it — of nights on outlying picquet, of escapes when patrolling, and of incidents in action, that he loved to recount to me as we sat by the river side waiting for a cloud to cross the sun before we tried a cast of flies over some favourite stream. Once every quarter he set off in his mule-cart for Killarney to draw his pension. On these occasions I used to notice that his voice on his return sounded a little thick, and his face generally appeared flushed. But the next day all would be the same as usual. At the time I fancied that the exertion of the journey had been too much for him, or that the excitement of meeting some old comrades (there were three other Peninsula heroes in the town) had over- come him. He had been a great ally of my poor father's in earlier days, and to my mother he was equally attached. With all his stories of wars and fighting his heart was true and gentle. He was fond of all animals, knew the notes of every bird, and could tell the names of the trees in the wood, or the wild flowers by the river side. He was my outdoor schoolmaster. I learned from him many a pleasant lesson, and many a useful one too. But I had another schoolmaster at this time. A mile down the glen from our cottage stood the priest's house, next to our own cabin-cottage the most comfortable residence in Glencar. In summer the old man was usually My schoolmasters. 9 to be found in his garden, in winter in his little parlour, always buried in some old volume from his well-stored shelves. His had been a curious career. His early student days had been passed in an old French city. In middle age he had been a missionary in the East, and at last he had taken charge of the wild district of Glencar, and settled down to the simple life of parish priest. Here he lived in the memory of his past life. Nearly half a century had gone since last his eyes had rested on the vine-clad slopes of the Loire, but it was ever an easy task to him to fling back his thoughts across that gulf of time, and to recall the great names that had risen in the sunrise of the century, and flashed such a glory over Europe that the lustre of succeed- ing time has shone faint and dim in contrast. He had seen the great emperor review his guards in the courtyard of the Tuileries, and had looked upon a group of horsemen that had in it Murat, Ney, Soult, Lannes, and Massena. How he used to revel in such memories ! and what point such experience lent to the theme ! He never tired talking of the great campaigns of the Consulate and Empire. I followed him in these reminiscences with rapt eagerness ; the intensity of my interest gave increased ardour to his narrative, and many a winter's night sped rapidly while the old man, seated before his turf fire, rambled on from battle- field to battle-field, now describing to me the wonderful !|! 10 Rid Ootid. strategy of some early campaign in Italy, now carrying my mind into the snows of Russia, and again taking me back into the plains of France, to that last and most brilliant effort of warlike genius, the campaign of 1814. At such times, the storm among the mountains would sometimes lend its roar in fitting accompaniment to the old man's story, and then the scene would change to my mind's eye as I listened. The little parlour would fade away, the firelight became a bivouac, and I saw in the grim outside darkness of the glen figures dimly moving ; the squadrons charged ; the cannon rumbled by ; and the pine- tops swaying in the storm, were the bearskin caps of the old Guard, looming above smoke and fire ! Such were my schoolmasters; such the lessons they taught me. The years passed quickly away. Notwithstanding my strong love of outdoor life, I devoted a good many hours every day to reading and study, and by the time I was fifteen years of age I had contrived to master a curious amount of general knowledge, particularly of history and geography, such as does not usually fall to the lot of boys of that age. I had a slight knowledge of Latin, was toler- ably well acquainted with French, knew the habits, customs, and limits oi every nation and tribe under the sun, and could travel the globe in fancy with few errors of time, dis- tance, and position. Donogh. XX One companion I had in all these years who has not yet been mentioned— poor Donogh Driscoll, a wild and ragged boy, two years my junior. In every adventure, in every expedition among the hills, Donogh was my attendant. He it was who used to wade into the reeds of Meclagh river to catch gudgeon for the baits for my night-lines in the Carragh ; he carried my bag, later on, when my shooting time came ; he marked with clear eye the long flight of the grouse pack down the steep slope of Coolrue ; he brought me tidings of wild duck feed- ing on the pools and ponds amid the hills ; he knew the coming of the wild geese to the lonely waste that lay beyond Lough Acoose ; he would watch the pools in the Carragh river, and knew to a foot where the salmon lay. Faithful companion through all my boyish sports and pastimes, he shared too with me my dreams of enterprise, my hopes of adventure in the big outside world. Often as we sat on some rock high up on the heather-covered side of Seefin, looking out over the vast waste of ocean, he would wonder what it was like over there " beyant the beyant." " You wont lave me here alone by myself, when you go away, sir?" he used to say to me. " It's lonely Fd be thin entirely." " You'd have the fishing and shooting, Donogh," I would reply. " You'd have the hares and the salmon all to your- self when I was gone." r> 12 Red Cloud. " What good would they be to me, ave you wasn't here with them ? " he'd answer. " Sure the duck in November above in Cluen, and the salmon in 'Coose in April, and the grouse here on Seefin in August, would only remimber me of the ould days when we hunted thim together." I used at such times to promise him that whenever I did set out on my travels I would take him with me ; and indeed, in all my plans for the future his companionship was always reckoned upon. At the upper end of the glen, a narrow pass, or gap between two mountains, led out upon a wild a::d lonely lake, around the sides of which the mountains rose in a gloomy precipice of rock for many hundreds of feet. Cooma-sa-harn, the name of the tarn that lay thus en- compassed by cliffs, was a place that in my earliest wander- ings filled me with feelings of awe and wonder. Strange echoes haunted it. Stones loosened from the impending cliffs rolled down into the lake with reverberating thunder, and their sullen splash into the dark water was heard repeated for many seconds around the encircling walls. On one side only was the maigin of the lake approachable on level ground. Here loose stones and shingle, strewn together, formed a little beach, upon which the sullen waters broke in mimic waves j and here, too, the outflow of the lake escaped to descend the mountain side, and finally add its tribute to the many feeders of the Carragh river. Cooma-sa-haru. 13 3 I was about twelve years of age when I first extended my wanderings to this lonely spot. Later on, Donogh and I made frequent expeditions to it. Its waters held no fish, and its shores rose too steep and high for game. But for all these deficiencies, Cooma-sa-harn held one wonder that suf- ficed to atone for every other shortcoming, and to make it a place of unceasing interest to us. It had an eagle's nest. There, 600 feet over the lake, in a smooth piece of solid rock, was a shelf or crevice, and in that hollow a golden eagle had built his nest year after year. From the little beach already mentioned we could see the birds at their work. From the top of the encircling cliffs we could look down and across at them too ; but the distance in either case was great, and do v/hat we would to obtain a closer view, we were always baffled by the precipitous nature of the mountain. We tried the mountain immediately above the nest, but could see nothing whatever of the smooth rock. We worked our way along the edge of the water, by the foot of the precipice, but were again baffled in the attempt. Projecting rocks hid the whole side of the cliff. We were fairly puzzled. Many an hour we spent looking up from the shore at the coveted shelf, which it seemed we were never likely to learn more about. The eagles seemed to know our thoughts, for they frequently soared and screamed high above our heads, as though they rejoiced in our discomfiture. It was not 14 Red Cloud. alone in the spring and summer that wc were reminded of our enemies thus perched on their inaccessible fortress. In the last hour of daylight of winter evenings a solitary speck over the valley would often be seen sailing downwards through space. It was the golden eagle going home to his ledge at Cooma-sa-harn. It would be idle to deny that we both felt keenly our inability to get to this eagle's nest. During four years we had looked across the dark waters, had watched the old birds flying in and out, had seen the young ones sitting on the ledge, and had listened to their screams as their mother came down to them with a prey fiom the surrounding hills. There was in our cottage an old telescope that had belonged to my father in his early days. This I brought out one day, and looking through it, with elbows resting upon knees, and glass directed upon the shelf of rock, I could discern plainly enough the inmates of the rough nest; but all this only made more tantalizing our helplessness to scale the rock, or to descend from above to the projecting ledge. The day on which I brought out the telescope to make a closer survey of the spot, was bright with sunshine. As the hours grew later the sun moving towards the west, cast its light full upon the face of the nest, which had before been in shadow. The inequalities of the surface, and the formation of the cliffs around the large flat rock, became much more apparent than they had ever been The cackle's iicst. 15 before to me. Among other things, I observed that the ledge in which the nest was made was continued in a shallowed state along the face of the cliff until it touched the end at one side. I noticed also that on the top of the smooth-faced rock there was a ridge, or kind of natural parapet, and that this ridge was connected with a deep perpendicular cleft, or chimney, which opened at top upon the accessible part of the mountain. Scanning with the utmost attentiveness all these places, I began to see what I thought might prove a practicable line of approach to the much-desired nest. That it was possible to reach the top of the smooth-faced rock by means of the chimney shaft appeared tolerably clear, but this top ridge or parapet already mentioned, was fully forty feet above the ledge on which the nest stood. By the time I had fully investigated all these details, so far as they could be examined by means of the telescope, the face of the cliff had become again involved in shadow, and it was time to turn our faces homewards for the even- ing ; but enough had been discovered to give us food for conversation that night, and to raise high hopes that our efforts to reach the nest might yet prove successful. We started early next morning for the top of the moun- tain ridge which looked down upon Cooma-sa-harn. On the previous evening I had taken the precaution of fixing the position of the top of the chl^iney, by getting it in line '^^JBBBBESSSISSS i6 Red Cloud. i ! ■V'i^o with two large boulders — one on the beach by the lake, the other some distance back from the shore. Arrived at the upper edge of the encircling basin I had no difficulty in bringing the two boulders, now at the further side from us, in line with each other, and then at the edge of the rocky rim we found a break in the rock, as though water in time of heavy rain had flowed down through it to the lake. We entered this break, and descending cautiously soon found ourselves on the top of the flat rock. Below us lay the black pool of Cooma-sa-harn ; on each side the flat parapet ended in steep mountain side ; above us was the mountain top, accessible only by the hollow shaft through**" which we had descended. So far all had gone as the survey through the telescope had led us to hope — we had reached the top of the smoothed-faced rock ; but the nest lay thirty or forty feet below us, still, apparently beyond our reach. We sat down on the top of the rock, reluctant to quit a spot so near to the long-coveted prize. The rock on which we rested was flanked on one side by a broken slant of mountain, down which a descent seemed possible if there was any- thing at hand to hold fast by; it was, however, bare of vegetation. It occurred to me now that a descent could be made down this slant by means of a rope, held by a second person standing on the ridge where we stood. The ledge which held the nest was situated so perpendicularly under- neath as to be hidden altogether from our standpoint ; but i ' I \ The eagles nest. 17 :ii if my survey through the telescope had been correct, a per- son descending the slant should be able to reach that end of the ledge which I had seen in tlie sunlight extending on one side to the extremity of the rock. All that was required to put this theory to the test of practice was a strong rope some fifty feet long, which, held by one at the top, would act as a support to one of us while going down the slanting rock, and would afterwards afford help for a , ide move- ment along the narrow ledge to the nest itself. As I sat thinking out this plan one of the birds came soaring on moveless pinion from the mountain downwards towards the uiest. He s."w us long before he reached the ledge, and his loud and angry screams rang around the steep rock-walls, making strange echoes over the gloomy water. We went home that evcxiing full of the thought that we had at last discovered a means of getting to the eagle's nest. It would take a few days to obtain a rope of the length and strength necessary for the undertaking, and then a final effort would be made to solve the long-considered problem. It took me some days to procure the rope. I had consulted Sergeant MacMahon vaguely on the subject, but finding that he was opposed to it as being too dangerous, I had fallen back upon my own resources and those of Donogh. At length all preparation.! were completed ; we had tested the rope by fastening one end of it to the fork of a tree and swinging out on the other end ; we had also got an iron stake to fix ^8 Red Cloud. in a crevice of the rock by which to attach the rope ; with these and a few other necessary articles we set out early one morning for Cooma-sa-harn. We struck across the shoulders of Meelagh mountain, dipped into Glentahassig, and breasting up the steep side of Secfin came out on the edge of the cliff which looked down upon the dark lake. Descending the chimney, we were soon in our old position on the parapet rim of the large flat rock. We now set to work to fix the iron stake firmly between two detached rocks we fastened the rope securely to the stake, letting the loose end fall down the mountain by the edge of the per- pendicular cliff. Now came the anxious moment ; holding on by the rope, I began to descend the steep slanting face of the mountain. During the first twelve feet of the descent the work was easy enough. I was in sight of Donogh, whom I had directed to remain at the stake to see that all was right there. After a bit the hill side became steeper, a piece; of smooth rock occurred, and then there was a drop of about six feet, that hid Donogh from my view. AVhen I had passed this drop the slant became again easier, and without much difiiculty I gained the end of the ledge or groove upon which, but still distant from me, stood the nest. The real difficulty of the undertaking was now before me. I had to move along the ledge, a narrow shelf on the face of a perpendicular rock many hundred feet above the lake. It was now Donogh's work to unfasten the iill The eaglis nest. IQ rope from the iron stake, and to move along the top, keeping pace with my progress on the ledge beneath. F\er3^- thing depended upon his steadiness ; but I had full /aith in his strength and skill. Up to this time all had been per- fectly quiet at the nest ; there was no sign of the old bird, nor could we hear the young ones screaming. I began very cautiously to move along the narrow ledge ; step by step I went along As I proceeded forward the ledge became wider, and I found sufficient room for both my feet to stand together upon it. I could not yet see the nest, as the rock curved out towards its centra cutting off the view beyond. Arrived at the bend of the rock, I leant round the projection and peered anxiously forward. There, on the bare shelf of the ledge, lay the eagle's nest ; two young eaglets sat dozing on the rock ; around lay fragments of bones, tufts of far torn from rabbits, feathers, and the dry stems of heather. Another step and I was round the bend and at the nest. At this spot the shelf deepened considerably into the rock, leaving space sufficient to give standing-room without need of assistance. Intent only upon securing the young birds, I let go my hold of the rope, and seized the nearest eaglet before he was fully awake ; the second one, hearing his companion scream, retreated further into the hole. Then it was that, looking outward, I saw the rope hanging, dangling loosely in mid-air. It was beyond my reach. For a moment C 2 ! II .1. 20 Red Cloud. the fearful position in which I so suddenly found myself caused me to sink upon the shelf. All the reality of my situation rushed full upon my mind. The rope hung fully five or six feet out over the abyss, for the rock above the ledge was formed like the roof of a cavern, projecting outward between me and Donogh's standpoint, and when I had let go my hold of the line it had swung out to its level fall. That I could get back over the space I had come, and ascend again to the parapet where Donogh stood, I knew to be impos- sible. To reach the line from the nest seemed quite hopeless. In Donogh lay my sole chance of relief. If by any means he could convey the rope to me, all would be well. If not, there seemed nothing save the awful alternative of death by starvation or the precipice before me. I shouted to Donogh what had happened. I told him that I could not reach the rope by fully three feet — that ray sole chance of escape lay in his being able to follow my line of descent and bring the rope to me, leaving it fixed at the other end, in some part of the parapet above which would allow the line to pass from the nest to the end of the ledge. The minutes now passed in terrible suspense. Donogh shouted to me that he was looking for a secure place to fasten the upper end of the rope to. I remained seated in the hollow, scarcely daring to think what the next few minutes might bring forth. Suddenly Donogh shouted to me, " The eagle is coming back to the nest." The news " The eagle is coming hack to the nest. 21 roused me from my stupor — the eagle was coming back ! I crouched into the inmost recesses of the hollow. I still held one of the young birds in the bag round my waist, the other bird kept on the ledge at the further side from that by which I had approached. I had not much fear as to what the bird could do ; I had a knife in my belt, and while an arm was free I knew I was more than a match foi any bird. From the spot where I sat I could see out over the lake into the blue and golden sunshine. All at once a large dark object crossed the line of light — soon recrossing it again as another wheel brought the huge bird nearer to its nest. Loud screams were now audible as the eagle became aware of something being wrong in the nest. Then there was the fierce beating of wings close outside the aperture, and the bird was perched on the edge of the rock, fiercely defiant, and making the echoes wild with her tumult. But amid all these surround- ings I was only conscious of one fact. The eagle had struck the rope as it hung down in front of the opening; it had caught in the large outstretched pinion, and it was again within my reach, passing under the flapping wing of the bird as she stood clasping the rock ledge in her talons. There was not a moment to be lost ; I thrust the young eagle at full arm's length towards the mother; she fluttered forward as I did so — the rope Avas again within my grasp. In an instant the eagle had relaxed her hold upon the rock, 22 Red Cloud. J'-. and clutching her young in her talons she went soaring downward to a lower ledge amid the cliffs. I thought I could never get away flist enough now. A complete change had come over my mind. I had learnt a lesson never to be forgotten; and my life, forfeited in a vain and fool- hardy attempt to gain the eagle's nest at Cooma-sa-harn, was given back to me by the wild bird whose young I had come to rob from her. I now called out to Donogh that all was again right, and that he was to reverse his former practice to enable me to rejoin him. I passed safely back along the ledge, reascended the slant, and gained once more the parapet. " Come, Donogh," I said when I waf? again with my companion, " let us leave this spot. Whatever happens, we will never again rob the nest or kill the young of birds or beasts. There is sport enough in the world for us without that." On the edge of the mountain side we paused for a moment to look down upon Cooma-sa-harn, and the scene that lay beyond it. One eagle was screaming loudly from the nest, the other was sweeping down on outspread pinion from the purple wastes of Seefin. I have dwelt long upon this episode in my early career, not so much from its importance, but because it did mo''e to bring home to my mind certain truths that are often realized later on in life than anything that had happened I Alone in the world. 23 to me up to my sixteenth year. I had soon to learn another, and a more bitter lesson. The summer passed away ; autumn came ; the smell of dying leaves was in the woods of Carragh, the wind sighed amid the sedgy grass of Lough Clucn, the pine-trees by the priest's house moaned in the breeze. Things looked sad in the glen, but they wore even a sadder aspect in our little cottage. !My mother was leaving me for ever. One evening in October I was sitting with her in our little parlour ; the flush was bright upon her cheek, her wasted hand was resting upon mine ; she spoke to me in a low voice. " You will soon be alone in the world," she said. " My life has only a little while to run. It is better that I should go. I could have been of litde use to you in life, and I might have ht'ld you back in the world. In any case we must have parted soon, for your days could not have been spent here in this distant glen. The mountains and the lakes have been good friends to you, but it is time for you to leave them, and go forth to take your place in the work of the world. I should have wished you in your father's profession, but that could not be \ we are too poor for that. Of one thing I am satisfied, no matter what the future may have in store for you, I feel you will be true to your father's name and to my memory. When I am gone you will have the world all be- fore you to choose from. Bear well your part in life whatever 'i 24 Red Cloud. it may be. Never be ashamed of your God, or of your country. And when the day is over and you kneel down in prayer, do not forget the two graves that lie far away in the little island of Lough Cluen." About a week alter this she passed quietly away, her hand clasped in min :, its pressure still speaking her affection long after the power of utterance had ceased. \Vhcn all was over I left the chamber of death, and moved out mechanically into the open air. Night had fallen ; the moon was high over the glen. I walked onward, scarcely knowing whither I was going. I saw all things around as though in a dream. I passed through the wood behind the cottage ; the moonlight shone bright upon the silver stems of the birch-trees ; streaks of vapour lay in the hollows where the trees ended. I saw all these things, and yet my brain seemed unable to move. I turned back from the end of the wood, passed the garden gate, and entered the little plot of ground in which my mother had been wont to tend flowers. It was now wild and desolate ; grass grew on the walks ; weeds and dead leaves lay around ; only a few chrysanthemums were still in blossom — she had planted them in the past summer, and now their short life had lasted longer than her own — their pale flowers in the moonlight gave forth a sweet fragrance on the night air. Death had chilled my heart ; my eyes had been dry ; my / start for the Great Prairie. 25 your hvn in I in the brain seemed to have stopped its working ; but here the scent of the flowers she had planted seemed all at once to touch some secret sympathy, and bursting into a flood of grief I bowed my head to the cold damp earth, and prayed long and earnestly to God. A footstep on the walk roused me. The old priest had sought me out. " Weep not, my poor boy," he said, as he took my arm in his own and led me to the cottage. " You pray for your mother on earth. She is praying for you in heaven." my My boyhood was over. I was alone in the world. The winter deepened and passed, the spring dawned, and with its returning freshness and sense of life my old dreams of distant travel came again upon me. I determined to seek my fortune abroad, to go forth into the waste wilds of the earth. Glencar had but trained my mind and body to further flights. I must go forth to the struggle. It did not take long to arrange matters for this great change. My worldly possessions were easily realized; the cottage and little farm soon found a purchaser; the few mementoes of my fathei's life, the keepsakes which my mother had left me, were put carefully away in charge of the old priest ; and I found myself the possessor of a few hundred pounds in money, a gun, my father's sword, a small case containing 26 Red Cloud. miniature portraits of my parents — with which to face the new life that lay before me. What was that life? It was to be a life of wandering in the great wilderness of Western America. I had formed from books a pretty accurate idea of the great divisions of the Northern Con- tinent of America which yet remained in the domain of uniamcd nature. I knew that far beyond the last settler's hut there lay a vast region of meadow, which finally gave place to a still vaster realm of forest, which in time yielded dominion to a wild waste of rock and water, until the verge of the Polar Sea. I knew too that these great divisions held roving and scattered tribes of Indians, sometimes at war with each other, always engaged in the pursuit of the wild beasts and birds whose homes were in those untamed wastes. More I did not need to know. I had trust, firm trust, in this great Nature, her lonely hill-tops, her wild lakes. The sigh of winds across November moors had had for me no sense of dreariness, no kinship with sorrow. Why should I dread to meet this world, whose aspects I loved so well, in the still wilder and grander scenes of an empire where civilized man was a total stranger? Nor was I to be altogether alone in my travels. Donogh was to continue in his old sphere of companion and attendant. Together we had roamed the hill sides of Glencar; together we would tread the vast prairies, pine forests, and mountains of the American wilderness. Good-bye to Gkncar, 27 ;e the The day of our clcparture came. It was a bright morning in early summer. We put our small baggage on Sergeant MacMahon's mule-cart, said good-bye to all our friends, and set out upon our road. The old sergeant insisted upon accompanying me as far as Killarney, from which place the train would take us to Cork, where the steamer for New York called. As we approached the priest's house, the old man stood at his gate waiting for us. His voice trembled as he said good-bye, and gave us his blessing. " God is everywhere, my boy," he said, as he wrung my hand. " Remember Him, and He will not forget you." At the crest of the hill where the road left the valley, we stopped a moment to take a last look at the old glen. It lay deep in sunshine, every peak clear and cloudless in the summer heaven. 28 Red Cloud. CHAPTER II. \ Sunset in the wilds— Our first camp— Outlooks — The solitary Sioux — Losses — The Sioux again — A new departure — The cache at the Souri — The story of Red Cloud — I'he red man's offer. A YEAR passed away. It was summer again — summer hurrying towards autumn — and the day drawing near the evening. The scene had changed. Far away into the west stretched a vast green plain. No hills rose on either side; sky and earth met at the horizon in a line almost as level as though land had been water. Upon one side some scattered clumps of aspens and poplars were visible ; save these nothing broke the even surface of the immense circle to the farthest verge of vision. I stood with Donogh in the centre of this great circle, realizing for the first time the grandeur of space of land. We had travelled all day, and now the evening found us far advanced upon our way into the great plains. It was our first day's real journey, Early on that morning we had left behind us the last sign of civilized settlement, and now, as Our first camp. 29 evening was approaching, it was time to make our first camp in the silent wilds. The trail which we followed towards the west approached some of those aspen thickets already mentioned. The ground, which at a little distance appeared to be a uniform level, was in reality broken into gentle un- dulations, and as we gained the summit of a slight ascent we saw that a small sheet of blue water lay between the thickets, offering on its margin a good camping-place for the night. The sun had now touched the western edge of the prairie ; for a moment the straight line of the distant horizon seemed to hold the great ball of crimson fire poised upon its rim ; then the black line was drawn across the flaming disc ; and then, as though melting into the earth, the last fragment of fire disappeared from sight, leaving the great plain to sink into a blue grey twilight, rapidly darkening into night. We stood on the ridge watching this glorious going down of day until the last spark of sun had vanished beneath the horizon ; then we turned our horses* heads towards the lake, still shining bright in the after-glow, and made our first camp in the wilds. It was easy work. We unloaded the pack-horse, unsaddled the riding-horses, hobbled the fore-legs, and turned them adrift into the sedgy grass that bordered the lakelet. Donogh had a fire soon going from the aspen branches, the lake gave water for the kettle, and ere darkness had wholly wrapt the scene we were seated 30 Red Cloud. Im1! i; 1 1.! t 'Li I !;^ ill ill I I before the fire, whce light, circled by the mighty solitude, grew ever brighter in the deepening gloom. While here we sit before our first camp fire, it will be well that I should say something about our plans and pro- spects for the future. Without adventure of any kind, and with only those difficulties to overcome that lie in all undertakings of life where real efiort has to be made, we had reached the confines of civilization ; a kind of frontier settlement, half wigwam half village, had sprung up to meet the wants of those traders in furs and peltries who form the connect- ing link between the red man of the wilds and his white brothers in civilization. This settlement marked, as it were, the limits of the two regions— on one side of it lay judge and jury, sheriff, policemen, court-house, and fenced divisions j on the other, the wild justice of revenge held em- pire, and the earth was all man's heritage. I had only delayed long enough in this frontier settlement to procure the necessary means of travel in the wilds. I had purchased four good ponies, two for saddle use and two to act as pack animals for our baggage — arms we already possessed — ammunition, blankets, knives, a couple of copper kettles, a supply of tea, sugar, salt, pepper, flour, and matches, a few awls, and axes. These I had obtained at one of the Indian trading stores, and, keeping all our plans as much as possible to ourselves, we had on this Outlooks, solitude, will be and pro- ly those s of life hed the ent, half wrants of connect- ,is white i it were, ly judge I fenced held em- }ttlement ft'ilds. I use and arms we a couple )er, flour, obtained g all our on this very morning set our faces for the solitude, intent upon holding on steadily into the west during the months of summer that yet remained. By winter time I counted upon having reached the vicinity of those g.eat herds of buffaloes which kept far out from the range of man, in the most re- mote recesses of the wilderness, and there we would build a winter hut in some sheltered valley, or dwell with any Indian tribe whose chief would bid us a welcome to his lodges. Of the country that lay before us, or of the people who roved over it, I knew only what I had pictured from books in the old glen at home, or from the chance acquaintances I had made during our stay in the frontier settlement ; but when one has a simple plan of life to follow, it usually matters little whether the knowledge of a new land which can be derived from books or men has been obtained or not ; time is the truest teacher, and we had time before us ard to spare. We ate our supper that night with but few words spoken. The scene was too strange — the outlook too mysterious, to allov/ thoughts to find spoken expression. Had I been asked that nigh^ by Donogh to define for him the precise objects I had in view in thus going out into the wilds, I do not think that I could have given a tangible reason I did not go as a gold-seeker, or a trapper of furs, or a hunter of wild animals. We would follow the ::iii 32 Red Cloud, 'd chase, trap the wild animals of the streams or marshes, look for gold too ; but it was not to do all or any of these things that I had left civilization behind me. This great untamed wilderness, this home of distance and solitude, this vast unbroken dominion of nature — where no fence crossed the surface of the earth, where plough had neve:- turned, where lakes lay lapped amid shores tenanted only by the moose and the rein-deer — all this endless realm of prairie, forest, rock, and rapid, which yet remains the grandest domain of savage nature in the world, had had for me a charm, not the less seductive because it could not then find expression in words, or give explanation for its fancy. Enough that we went forth with no sinister object in view against man or beast, tree or plain ; we went not to annex, to conquer, nor to destroy ; we went to roam and rove the world, and to pitch our camps wheresoever the evening sun might find us. Before turning in for the night I lefL che light of the fire, and wandered out into the surrounding darkness. It was A wonderful sight. The prairie lay wrapt in darkness, but above, in the sky, countless stars looked down upon the vast plain ; far away to the south, the red glow of a distant fire was visible ; our own camp fire flamed and flickered, sheding a circle of light around it, and lighting up the nearer half of the lakelet and the aspen clumps on the shore. At times there passed over the vast plain the low sound of wind among grasses — a sound that seemed to bring is, look 2 things ntamed his vast >sed the 1, where I moose u forest, )main of , not the ssion in that we man or ir, nor to to pitch us. "the fire, It was ness, but upon the ' a distant flickered, g up the )S on the n the low d to bring ^ ■ M iii •» -^ The solitary Sioux Page 33 llie solitary Sioux. 33 to the ear a sense of immense distance and of great loneli- ness. For a moment I felt oppressed by this vague lonely waste ; but I thought of the old priest's words, and looking up again from the dark earth to the starlit heavens, I saw all the old stars shining that I used to know so well in the far-away glen at home. Then I knelt down on the prairie, and prayed for help and guidance in the life that lay before me. Daylight had broken some time when I awoke, and rose from my blanket bed for a survey of the morning. How vast seemed the plain ! Far away it spread on all sides ; all its loneliness had vanished; it lay before me fresh, fair, and dew-sparkled— our trail leading off over distant ridges, until it lay like a faint thread vanishing into the western space. As my eye followed this western path, I noticed a mounted figure moving along it about a mile distant, approaching our camping-place at an easy pace. I called to Donogh to get the fire going and make ready our break- fast, and we had barely got the kettle on the flames when the stranger had reached our camp. He rode right up to the spot where we stood, alighted from his horse, and throwing the reins loose on the animal's neck, came forward to meet me. I advanced towards him and held out my hand in welcome. A large shaggy hound, half deer half wolf-dog, followed closely at his heels. We Page 33 34 Red Cloud. : « i- i j 'i'i 1 ; \ .1 111 shook hands ; the stranger seated himself near the fire, and silence reigned for a few minutes. My experience in the settlement had taught me the few rules of Indian etiquette, and I busied myself in helping Donogh to complete the arrangement for breakfast before questioning the new comer upon his journey or intentions. Our breakfast was soon ready. I handed a cup of tea and a plate of pemmican to the Indian, and sat down myself to the same fare. When we had eaten a little, I addressed our guest, asking him his length of journey and its destination. He had come many days from the west, he said in reply. His destination was the west again, when he had visited the settlement. Then it was my turn to tell our movements. I said exactly what they were. I told him that we had come from a land across the sea, and that we were going as far aa the land would take us into the north-west, that we were strangers on the prairie, but hoped soon to learn its secrets and its people. While the meal proceeded I had opportunity of study- ing the appearance, dress, and accoutrements of our guest, They were remarkable, and quite unlike anything I had before seen. He was a man in the very prime of life ; his dress of deer-skin had been made with unusual neatness ; the sleeves ■ The solitary Sioux. 35 re, and in the iquette, ete the le new D of tea It down little, I ney and in reply, sited the I said ne from a ir aa the we were its secrets of study- Dur guest, ng I had s dress of he sleeves fully interwoven with locks of long black hair, were covered with embroidered porcupine-quill work, which was also plen- tifully scattered over the breast and back ; the tight-fitting leggings and sharp-pointed moccasins were also embroidered. He carried across his saddle-bow a double-barrelled English rifle ; but the ancient weapons of his race had not been abandoned by him, for a quiverful of beautifully shaped Indian arrows, and a short stout bow, along the back of which the sinews of the buffalo had been stretched to give it strengtii and elasticity, showed that he was per- fectly independent, for war or the chase, of modern weapons and ammunition. As head covering he wore nothing, save what nature had given him — long jet-black hair, drawn back from the forehead and flowing thickly over the shoulders. A single feather from an eagle's tail formed its sole ornament. The end of the feather, turned slightly back, was tied with the mystic "totem" of chieftainship. His horse, a stout mustang of fourteen hands high, carried the simple trappings of the plains—the saddle of Indian workmanship, the bridle, a single rein and small snaffle with a long laret attached, and from the neck was suspended the leather band by means of which the rider could lay his length along the horse's flank farthest from his enemy while he launched his arrows beneath the animal's neck, as he galloped furiously in lessen- ing circles around his foe. r 4 J 3^ Red Cloud. 1 i^ t 1 ' bt flK I ^; Ti- ■''■ 1 B^ He spoke English with an accent that showed he had been taught in western schools; but though the language was English the manner of its utterance was wholly Indian ; it was Indian thought put into English words, and accom- panied by the slow and dignified action of Indian gestu'-e. He took the tobacco pouch which I offered him when our meal was finished, filled his greenstone pipe, drew a lighted stick from the fire, and began to smoke quietly, while his dark eye seemed to rest upon the ashes and embers ot the fire before him. But the keen sharp eye was not idle ; and one by one the articles of our little kit, and the horses which Donogh had now driven in preparatory to saddling for the day's journey, had been conned over in his mind. After smoking for some time he spoke. " Does my brother know what he will meet on the path he is following?" he asked. I told him that I had only a very shadowy idea of what was before us ; that I intended going on from day to day, and that when the winter season came I hoped to build a tent, and live in it until the snow went, and I could wander on again. I told him, too, that I was not going to seek for gold, or to trade for furs and peltries, but only to live on the prairies — to meet the red men, to breathe the open air of the wilderness, and roam the world. Then I asked some more questions about his own intentions. I asked him how it was that he was all alone on this long journey ; for I knew that the Indians were in the habit of The solitary Sioux. 37 ad been age was dian; it accom- gestu'-e. rhen our I lighted hile his rs ot the le ; and 2S which for the )oes my owing ? " )wy idea Tom day loped to I could going to ; only to ithe the Then I :ions. I his long habit of moving in parties, and that it was most unusual for them to be seen travelling alone. He replied that he travelled by himself partly from choice and partly from necessity. " I am the last of my people," he said, " the last of the I^Iandan branch of the Sioux race. It is true that I might find companions among the Ogahalla or Minatarree branches of my nation, but then I would have to dwell with them and live their lives. The work I have to do can only be done by my?elf ; until it is finished I must follow a single trail. I have for companion this dog, an old and oft-tried friend." I then asked him if he had seen much of the prairie. He replied that he knew it ail; that from the Stony Mountains to the waters of the Lake Wiiinipeg, from the pine forest of the north to the sage-bush deserts of the Platte, he had travelled all the land. Shortly after this ho rose to depart We shook hands again ; he sprang lightly into his saddle and rode off towards the east. When he was gone we rolled up our blankets and traps and departed on our western way. It was the morning after the second night from this time that we found ourselves camped at break of day in the valley of a small stream which flowed south toward the Souri river. So far, all had gone well with us. We had met with no difficulty, and had begun to think that our western course would continue to be marked by 'I i 33 Red Cloitil unchanging success. On this morning, however, we awoke \o other thoughts. Two of our horses had disappeared. At first we thought that they had strayed farther away than the others, but ^fter searching far and near over the prairie we came to the lonclusion that they had been stolen. It was a cruel blow. At first I felt stunned, but bit by bit I thought the matter out and determined to face the difficulty. After all it might have been worse, we had still two horses left ; we would put all our supplies on one animal, and ride by turns on the other. We would camp early, let the horses feed while it was yet daylight, and keep them picketted by our camp at night. So, putting a good face upon the matter, we got our things together, and set out about mid-day on our western road. Donogh was on foot leading the pack-horse ; I rode slowly on in front. It still wanted two full hours of sunset when we halted for the evening. We turned out the horses to graze. I took my gun and sat down on a ridge to watch them as they fed. It was then that the loss we had suffered seemed to come heaviest to me. As I sat there I thought over the length of time we must now take to reach the distant prairies of the west, and my heart sank at the prospect of slow and weary travel, with the chances of further losses that would leave us helpless upon the vast plains. As I sat thus brooding upon our misfortunes I noticed one of the horses raise his head from feeding and gaze I i Losses. 39 e awoke thought lers, but ,e to the lel blow, atter out it might Duld put on the while it camp at e got our ern road, slowly on when we to graze. them as i seemed over the e distant ospect of ler losses I noticed and gaze steadily back upon our trail. Looking in that direction I saw a solitary figure approaching upon horseback. A glance sufficed to tell me that it was the same man who had visited our camp two mornings earlier. For a moment I involun- tarily connected his presence with our loss; but then it occurred to me that he would not seek our camp again if he had stolen our horses, and I remembered too that he had told me he was going west when he had visited the frontier settlement. He came up to where I was, and shook hands with me without dismounting, his dog keeping close by his horse's flank. I told him of our loss, and spoke freely of its serious nature to us. I baid we were now reduced to only two horses, and asked him frankly if he ;;ould do anything to help me. He listened quietly, and when I had done speaking he said, — " The prairie without horses is like a bird without wings. When I left you two days ago, I thought you would soon learn that life in the wilderness was not all so easy. Your horses have been taken by some Salteaux Indians. I saw their trail at mid-day to day as I came hither. They arc far away from here by this time. I am sorry for you," he went on, " for you are the first white man I have ever met who came out to this land of ours with the right spirit. You do not come to make money out of us Indians : you do not come to sell or to buy, to cheat and to lie to us. White men M !? f. t5:i: :>Ji. 40 Red Cloud. think there is but one work in life, to get money. When you told me your story a couple of mornings since I thought it was my own life you were telling me of. Now you ask me if I can help you to get back the horses which have been taken from you. I could get them back, but it would take time and long travel. I can do better for you, my brother \ I can get you new horses in place of the old ones." I scarcely believed the words I listened to, so good was the news they told me. " If you like," he went on, " to learn the life of the prairie, I will teach it to you. Do not sorrow any more for your loss ; we will camp here to-night, and to-morrow we will see what can be done." So saying he unsaddled his horse, and throwing saddle, bridle, and blanket on the ground, sat down by the fire and began to smoke. When supper was ready I gave him a share of our meal, and he camped with us that night. Wc were astir very early on the next morning. In order to travel with greater speed the Indian divided our baggage into three portions, which he placed equally on the three horses, adjusting the loads in front and behind the saddles. This enabled Donogh to ride'; and although it put a heavy load on all the horses, it would only be for one day. What plan the Indian had formed I had at this time no idea of, but I already looked upon him in the light of a true bene- factor, and I was prepared to follow implicitly his guidance. i A new departure. 41 '1 he sun had just risen when we quitteil our camping-place and took the old trail to the west ; but an hour or so after starting, the Indian, who led the way, quitted the trail and bent his course across the plain in a south-westerly direction. During some hours he held his way in this direction ; there was no trail, but every hill and hollow seemed to be familiar to our guide, and he kept his course in a line which might have appeared to me to be accidental, had I not observed that when we struck streams and water-courses the banks afforded easy means of crossing. About mid-day we quitted the open prairie, and entered upon a country broken into clumps of wood and small copses of aspen ; many lakelets were visible amid the thickets ; and the prairie grouse frequently rose from the grass before our horses' feet, and went whirring away amid the green and golden thickets of cotton-wood and poplars. It was drawing towards evening when our little party emerged upon the edge of a deep depression which suddenly opened before us. The bottom of this deep valley was some two or three miles wide ; it was filled with patches of bright green meadow, and dotted with groups of trees placed as though they had been planted by the hand of man. Amidst the meadows and the trees ran a many-curved stream of clear silvery water, now glancing over pebble-lined shallows, now flowing still and soft in glassy unrippled lengths. Drawing rein at the edge of this beautiful valley, the 'Ill 42 Red Claud. ilil Indian pointed his h