Then we made ready to break camp and leave the snow and ice of the high altitude for the milder climate of the [[20]]valley; but the devil was in our horses that day. It took many weary hours to catch the herd. We made a series of corrals with lariats and pack ropes. By the time we had the horses packed and ready to start, the sun had long passed the meridian. The scout led the way down the mountain, while I followed on foot with camera and tripod, driving the horses and leading my saddle horse Kutenai, loaded with baggage, because one of our pack horses had escaped us down the mountain. Then the contrary bell-mare ran into the underbrush and bucked her pack loose, and the horse of the scout ran away and threw him off. I found him lying senseless on the ground, with blood flowing from nose and mouth. When he came to himself, he made light of his accident; he said that he had been weakened by his former life of exposure in the Indian wars.
We camped that night on the floor of the valley, in a park surrounded by a dark forest of lodge-pole pine and spruce; the air was mild; bunch-grass grew luxuriantly and many varieties of wild flowers—blue camas, orchids with pale green flowers, and yellow columbine with lovely pendant blossoms.
TRIBAL CAMP OF BLACKFOOT ON THE PRAIRIE
Rocky Mountains in the distance
Our last day in the mountains, we followed a trail down the eastern slope, a well-known Indian route across the Rocky Mountains, famous in legend and war story. We passed through the long forest-covered valley of Cutbank River, between two massive snow-covered mountain ranges, and rode through the foothills with their lovely lakes and meadows, groves of aspen and thickets of willows, crossing high grass-covered ridges, closely following one another like great waves of the ocean.
Finally, from the crest of a ridge about twenty miles from the foot of the mountains, we looked down upon a scene I shall never forget. On a broad stretch of prairie and on the shore of a lake lay the tribal camp of the Blackfoot; many [[21]]hundreds of smoke-colored tepees, pitched in the form of a great circle more than a mile in circumference. In an open space near the center of camp was a throng of Indians, taking part in the ceremony of the Sun Dance. The surrounding meadows were bright with blue lupines, shooting stars, camas, and yellow sunflowers. Smoke from the evening fires rose from the tepees. Many horses were feeding contentedly on the hills. As we stood looking down at the great camp, a light breeze carried distinctly the shouts of men and women, crying of children, barking of many dogs, neighing of horses, and the rhythmic beating of Indian drums in dances and ceremonial gatherings.
On that first night, we slept on the open prairie with only the sky for a roof. Late in the night, I was wakened by Indian horsemen riding through the camp, singing strange melodies, giving at intervals shrill war whoops, jingling bells keeping time with the slow and measured trot of their horses. Their songs had a lilt and wildness, and were sung with a vigor and enthusiasm that made me long to record them.
Excitement was in the air. Flaring inside fires lighted up the lodges, casting weird shadows of the inmates on the outside coverings. I heard the booming of drums, shrill cries and shouts of dancers, laughter and cheers of the crowds. From the center of camp came a solemn chanting of many voices, accompanied by heavy beating of rattles on the ground. At intervals the low monotone of men singing in unison, united with the shrill voices of women. Then the mysterious chanting died away and I fell asleep. [[22]]