The men were stretched at every point around the fire, their feet being toward it, their heads radiating outward, so that the three groups resembled the same number of immense wheels. As most of the places were occupied, I lay a little beyond the circle, within a foot or two of Biddon. The fires now smoldered, and the heavy darkness again settled over wood and river. Nothing disturbed the deep silence save the faint flow of the Yellowstone, or the dull noise of an ember as it broke apart, and now and then the distant wail of some wild animal. But a short time elapsed ere I joined the rest in the land of dreams.
The night passed away without any event worthy of note; and the first apprisal I had of the approach of day, was by hearing loud cries of “Léve! léve! léve!”[7] uttered by numerous voices.
Starting up, I saw the voyageurs were all astir, and making ready to embark. The boats were launched, and being too early for breakfast, the men sprang in and seized the oars.
“When we halt for breakfast,” said the steersman, “it will be at the Indian village, which I understand is your destination.”
With the same inspiring song of yesterday, the men bent to their oars, and the boats shot rapidly through the foaming water. In the course of an hour or more, the brigade put in for breakfast, and the same bustling scene that had taken place the night before was re-enacted.
The place chosen was a broad, open plot of grass, reaching down to the water’s edge, and extending some hundred feet back, when the edge of the forest was reached. No signs of Indians were seen, and I was somewhat puzzled to know how it was known they were in the vicinity. The clerk mentioned before, explained to me that Biddon had described the halting spot, and the distance so accurately, that there could be no mistake, and the savages would soon make their appearance.
We had scarcely spoken, when a movement was heard in the forest, and several Indians made their appearance. They seemed to understand the meaning of the brigade; for, directly behind them came numbers of others bearing loads of peltries—the furs of beavers, foxes, badgers, lynxes, martens, otters, and wolverines. A barter at once commenced, and in less than half an hour the whole array was deposited in the boats, and the Indians were proudly parading in the gaudy trinkets and dresses which had just fallen to their lot.
“Where is their village?” I asked of Biddon.
“A mile or so back in the woods; you can’t miss it.”