As the sun was setting that evening a great crowd gathered on the plain by the side of our tent, to try the speed of their horses.
These were of every shape, size, and color.Some came from California, some from the States, some from among the mountains, and some from the wild bands of the prairie.They were of every hue--white, black, red, and gray, or mottled and clouded with a strange variety of colors.They all had a wild and startled look, very different from the staid and sober aspect of a well-bred city steed.
Those most noted for swiftness and spirit were decorated with eagle-feathers dangling from their manes and tails.Fifty or sixty Dakotas were present, wrapped from head to foot in their heavy robes of whitened hide.There were also a considerable number of the Cheyenne, many of whom wore gaudy Mexican ponchos swathed around their shoulders, but leaving the right arm bare.Mingled among the crowd of Indians were a number of Canadians, chiefly in the employ of Bisonette; men, whose home is in the wilderness, and who love the camp fire better than the domestic hearth.They are contented and happy in the midst of hardship, privation, and danger.Their cheerfulness and gayety is irrepressible, and no people on earth understand better how "to daff the world aside and bid it pass."Besides these, were two or three half-breeds, a race of rather extraordinary composition, being according to the common saying half Indian, half white man, and half devil.Antoine Le Rouge was the most conspicuous among them, with his loose pantaloons and his fluttering calico skirt.A handkerchief was bound round his head to confine his black snaky hair, and his small eyes twinkled beneath it, with a mischievous luster.He had a fine cream-colored horse whose speed he must needs try along with the rest.So he threw off the rude high-peaked saddle, and substituting a piece of buffalo robe, leaped lightly into his seat.The space was cleared, the word was given, and he and his Indian rival darted out like lightning from among the crowd, each stretching forward over his horse's neck and plying his heavy Indian whip with might and main.A moment, and both were lost in the gloom; but Antoine soon came riding back victorious, exultingly patting the neck of his quivering and panting horse.
About midnight, as I lay asleep, wrapped in a buffalo robe on the ground by the side of our cart, Raymond came up and woke me.
Something he said, was going forward which I would like to see.
Looking down into camp I saw, on the farther side of it, a great number of Indians gathered around a fire, the bright glare of which made them visible through the thick darkness; while from the midst of them proceeded a loud, measured chant which would have killed Paganini outright, broken occasionally by a burst of sharp yells.Igathered the robe around me, for the night was cold, and walked down to the spot.The dark throng of Indians was so dense that they almost intercepted the light of the flame.As I was pushing among them with but little ceremony, a chief interposed himself, and I was given to understand that a white man must not approach the scene of their solemnities too closely.By passing round to the other side, where there was a little opening in the crowd, I could see clearly what was going forward, without intruding my unhallowed presence into the inner circle.The society of the "Strong Hearts" were engaged in one of their dances.The Strong Hearts are a warlike association, comprising men of both the Dakota and Cheyenne nations, and entirely composed, or supposed to be so, of young braves of the highest mettle.Its fundamental principle is the admirable one of never retreating from any enterprise once commenced.All these Indian associations have a tutelary spirit.That of the Strong Hearts is embodied in the fox, an animal which a white man would hardly have selected for a similar purpose, though his subtle and cautious character agrees well enough with an Indian's notions of what is honorable in warfare.The dancers were circling round and round the fire, each figure brightly illumined at one moment by the yellow light, and at the next drawn in blackest shadow as it passed between the flame and the spectator.They would imitate with the most ludicrous exactness the motions and the voice of their sly patron the fox.Then a startling yell would be given.Many other warriors would leap into the ring, and with faces upturned toward the starless sky, they would all stamp, and whoop, and brandish their weapons like so many frantic devils.
Until the next afternoon we were still remaining with Bisonette.My companion and I with our three attendants then left his camp for the Pueblo, a distance of three hundred miles, and we supposed the journey would occupy about a fortnight.During this time we all earnestly hoped that we might not meet a single human being, for should we encounter any, they would in all probability be enemies, ferocious robbers and murderers, in whose eyes our rifles would be our only passports.For the first two days nothing worth mentioning took place.On the third morning, however, an untoward incident occurred.We were encamped by the side of a little brook in an extensive hollow of the plain.Delorier was up long before daylight, and before he began to prepare breakfast he turned loose all the horses, as in duty bound.There was a cold mist clinging close to the ground, and by the time the rest of us were awake the animals were invisible.It was only after a long and anxious search that we could discover by their tracks the direction they had taken.They had all set off for Fort Laramie, following the guidance of a mutinous old mule, and though many of them were hobbled they had driven three miles before they could be overtaken and driven back.
