[31] ēē nä´
I have said that Flies Low sat in our second boat, with my little son in his arms. The baby had grown restless, and Flies Low had loosened the babe’s wrappings to give freedom of his limbs. A sudden billow rocked the boat, throwing Flies Low against the side and tumbling my little son out of his arms into the water.
His loosened wrappings, by some good luck, made my baby buoyant, so that he floated. He was crying lustily when my husband drew him out; but he was not strangling, and under his wraps he was not even wet.
“I could not help it,” said Flies Low afterwards. “The boat seemed to turn over, and the baby fell out of my arms.” We knew this was true and said nothing more of it.
Our party reached shore without further mishap. We hastily unpacked two tents; and, while some busied themselves pitching them, others gathered wood and made fires.
That night the snow turned to a cold rain, which the next day turned again into a heavy snow. The summer birds had come north, and after the storm was over we found many of them frozen to death. It snowed for four days.
Small Ankle and his brother, Charging Enemy, were driving their horses along the bank when the storm overtook them. They did not stop to camp with us, but pushed on through the storm to Like-a-Fishhook village. They reached the village safely and drove their horses down into the thick timber out of the cold wind. There was a pond there, and the horses found it warmer to wade out into the water than to stand on the bank in the cold rain. But after a while, grown weary with standing, they came out; and, as the wind was blowing a gale, the horses were chilled and three of them died. Many others of our village herd died in the same way.
Our own party, as soon as the storm was over, re-embarked and floated safely down to Like-a-Fishhook village.