DOWN came our lodges this morning, and to-night we are camped in Cutbank Canyon, just below the great beaver ponds some six or seven miles from the head of the stream. When I first saw these ponds, years and years ago, they were dotted with beaver houses, and at dusk one could see the busy woodcutters swimming from them in all directions to get their evening meal of willow or quaking aspen bark, preparatory to beginning their nightly work of storing food for winter use. I never killed a beaver, but I have torn down beaver dams in order to watch the little animals repair them. Beavers have a language as well as men: there was always a chief engineer who told the workers just what to do, and he himself rectified their mistakes. We are encamped right on the main war road of the Blackfeet into the country of the West Side tribes. Once, when camped here with the Small Robes (I-nuk'-siks), the band, or gens, of which I was a member, I saw a party of our young men make their preparations and start westward on a raid. They gathered in a sweat lodge with an old medicine man, who prayed earnestly for their success while he sprinkled the hot rocks with water, and dense steam filled the place. And at dusk, carrying in painted rawhide cylinders their war finery, and in little sacks their extra moccasins, awl and sinew for repairs, and their little paint bags, they stole out in single file from the camp and headed for the summit of the range.

Every evening, during their absence, the old medicine man rode all through the camp, shaking his medicine rattles, singing the song for the absent, calling over and over each one’s name, and praying for his safe return.

And then, one morning some two weeks later, they came into camp with a rush, driving before them sixty or seventy horses that they had taken from the Kootenais. And two carried a slender wand from which dangled a scalp. They came in singing the song of victory; and then the war chief shouted: “A multitude of the enemy are on our trail. Break camp, you women, and move down river. Take your weapons, you men, and turn back with us!”

We took our weapons. We mounted our horses and rode like mad up the old war trail, and within a half-hour sighted the enemy, forty or fifty of them, strung out in a long, straggling line, according to the strength and speed of each one’s horse. We exchanged a few shots with the lead riders; one fell; the rest took their back trail, and how they did go up the steep incline to the summit, and over it. We did not pursue them: “Let them go!” Bear Chief shouted. “We have many of their horses; we have scalped three of them; let them go!”

We “let them go!” and, indeed, that was the wiser way: they could have made a stand at the summit and shot us down as fast as we came on. The old war road! How many of my people have traveled over it, some of them never to return. It was along this road that Pi'tamakan, virgin woman warrior, led her warriors in what was to be her last raid! But how many, many times our people have come rushing homeward over it, singing their songs of victory, waving the scalps they have taken, and driving before them great bands of the horses of the Pend d’Oreilles, the Snakes, the Nez PercÉs, and other tribes of the Columbia River watershed.

The names the Blackfeet have given to the four world directions are most significant of their entry into this Missouri River country. North is ap-ut'-o-sohts: back, or behind direction. South, ahm-ska'-pohts, is ahead direction. East is pi-na'-pohts: down-river direction; and west is ah-me'-tohts: up-river direction. I have told why the Two Medicine was so named, when the Blackfeet came into the country from the Far North, and drove the Crows before them. This river they named Pu-nak'-ik-si (Cutbank), because its narrow valley for a long way up from its junction with the Two Medicine is walled in by straight-cut cliffs.

The Cutbank River Valley, like those of all the other streams of the country, has been the scene of many a fight between the Blackfeet and their enemies, in which the Blackfeet were generally the victors. A remarkable instance of an old woman’s bravery occurred just below here some forty years ago.

A few lodges of the Kut'-ai-im-iks, or Never Laughs band of the Blackfeet, in need of the skins of elk and bighorn for making “buckskin” for light clothing and moccasin tops, were here hunting, and one evening all the men gathered in old Running Crane’s lodge for prayers with his beaver medicine. An old woman, named Muk-sin-ah'-ki (Angry Woman), was sitting in her lodge by herself because there had not been room for her in the crowded beaver medicine lodge. But she was listening to the distant singing, and saying over the prayers at the proper time, her heart full of peace and love for the gods. As she sat there at the back of the lodge, she suddenly noticed that the doorway curtain in the upper part was being slowly pulled aside to the width of a hand, and in that small space an eye glared at her for a time, and then the curtain dropped back to place.

“That was the eye of an enemy,” she said to herself. Her heart throbbed painfully; and for the time her thoughts were confused. Then, suddenly, some one, perhaps the sun himself, told her to take courage. She took courage: she stole out of the lodge to see what that enemy was doing. There was a moon; bright starlight; the night was almost as light as day; and she had no more than left the lodge than she saw the man walking here, there, examining the buffalo runners, the best and swiftest horses of the people, all picketed close to the lodges of their owners. Whenever the man’s back was toward her, she hurried her steps; got closer and closer to him; and then, suddenly, she sprang and seized him from behind and shouted: “Help! Help! I have seized an enemy!” In the beaver medicine lodge the men heard her and came running to her relief. She had the man down; he was struggling to rise; but the sun must have given her of his power: she held him firmly until they came, and they seized him, and White Antelope stabbed him to death. He was a Gros Ventre.

HOW MOUNTAIN CHIEF FOUND HIS HORSES

“Nephew, listen! Magic took place here in the long ago,” said Yellow Wolf as we sat around his lodge fire this evening.

“The Ah'-pai-tup-i[4] were hunting on this Cutbank stream, every day or two moving nearer and nearer to the mountains. At one of their camping-places some distance below here, Mountain Chief lost his two fast buffalo runners, and although all the young men of the camp scattered out to look for them, they could not be found. Camp was moved nearer to the mountains, and after a few days moved again, this time to this very place where we are now encamped.

“The loss of the two buffalo runners was all that Mountain Chief could think about. As they could not be found, he felt sure that some enemy had stolen them.

“There was a Kootenai Indian visiting in camp, and one day he entered Mountain Chiefs lodge, and said to him: ‘You are grieving about the loss of your two fast horses. Now, if you will do as I say, perhaps I can find them for you.’

“‘Whatever you ask, that shall be done,’ Mountain Chief told him.

“‘First, then, you must give me a robe, a good bow, and a quiver of arrows,’ said the Kootenai.

“‘They are yours; there they are: my own weapons, that robe. Take them when you want them,’ said the chief.

“‘I will take them later,’ said the Kootenai. ‘And now, call in your leading men.’

“Mountain Chief went outside and shouted the names of the men he wanted: a medicine man; several old, wise men; some warriors of great name. They came and were given seats in his lodge, each man according to his standing in the tribe. Said the Kootenai then: ‘I have a sacred song that I want you all to learn. I will sing it over three or four times, then you sing it with me.’

“He sang the song. It was low in tone, and slow; a strange and beautiful song that gripped one’s heart. But it was not hard to learn; after the Kootenai had sung it over four times, all there could sing it with him.

“Then the Kootenai told Mountain Chief to have the women build for him a little lodge there inside the big lodge. This they did by leaning the sticks of two tripods against one of the poles of the lodge, their lower ends making a half-circle, and then covering them with buffalo leather. Into this little enclosure crept the Kootenai, taking with him a bird wing-bone whistle, and a medicine rattle, and as soon as he was inside he ordered the women to smooth down carefully the leather coverings so that he would be in the dark. He then said to the people, sitting there in the big lodge: ‘We will now sing the song four times. It is a call song to all living things: the birds, the animals, the trees, the rocks—yes, even they have life. All will come when we sing this song, and we will question them as to the whereabouts of the two missing horses.’

“They sang the song four times, and then the Kootenai, alone in his dark little lodge, sang another song, keeping time to it with his rattle, and the people, listening, heard outside the sighing of the wind through a big pine tree, although no such tree was near; and the Kootenai questioned the pine tree, and it answered that it had no knowledge of the missing horses.

“Then, at his summons, came the different birds and the animals; one could hear outside the flutter of their wings, the tread of their feet; and the Kootenai questioned them, and one by one they answered that they had not seen the horses. Came then a big rock, hurtling down through the sky and through the smoke hole of the lodge right into the fireplace, scattering ashes and coals all around the lodge, and frightening the people sitting there. And the Kootenai questioned it, and it answered that it knew nothing of the lost horses.

“‘Let us sing the sacred song again,’ the Kootenai called out from his dark little lodge, and the people sang it with him, not once, but four times. The Kootenai then blew his whistle four times, four long, loud whistles. At the time there was no wind, but soon they heard, far off, the roar of an approaching wind of terrible force. Said the Kootenai then: ‘I have called him, he is coming, Old-Man-of-the-Winds: be not afraid; he will not harm you.’

“He came with dreadful whirlwinds of his making. Winds that shook the lodge, and made the lodge ears hum with the noise of that of a hundred swarms of bees. And then, suddenly, the wind fell, and outside the people heard this wind god ask: ‘Why have you sung—why have you whistled for me—what is it you want to know?’ “The Kootenai answered: ‘Mountain Chief, here, has lost his two best horses. Fast buffalo runners they are; both black; one with a white spot on his side. I called you to ask if you have seen them anywhere?’

“‘No, I have not seen them,’ Old-Man-of-the-Winds answered. ‘As you know, I belong on the west side of this Backbone-of-the-World. It is from there that I start the winds that blow over your country. I have been no farther out than here. No, I have not seen the horses.’

“‘Now I am depressed,’ the Kootenai exclaimed. ‘I did not expect to learn much about this from the birds, the animals, trees, and rocks, even the bumblebee could tell me nothing; but I felt that you would surely know where the two horses are!’

“‘Well, I have a friend who can tell you what you want to know,’ said Old-Man-of-the-Winds. ‘He is Red-Top Plume. He lives in the clouds; he can see the whole country; undoubtedly he can tell you where those horses are.’

“‘He is a stranger to me. How shall I find him—this Red-Top Plume?’ the Kootenai asked; and all the people held their breath, waiting to hear the answer. Here was sacred talk; talk of a man with a god, and about gods: they could hardly believe that it was real, that which they were hearing.

“Answered Old-Man-of-the-Winds: ‘Watch the clouds. When you see one of them turning from white to red, as the sun goes down to his lodge on his island in the great sea, you will know that Red-Top Plume is there above you. That red cloud is his plume. Yes, when you see that, sing your song again four times; blow your whistle again four times, and he will answer you.’

“And with that the wind suddenly started to blow from the east, and Old-Man-of-the-Winds went with it back to his western home, and they heard him no more.

“From his dark little lodge in the big lodge, the Kootenai called out to Mountain Chief: ‘Go, stand outside your lodge, watch for a cloud turning red, and when you see it, come inside and tell me that it is there above us.’ “Mountain Chief went outside. He looked up and saw but a few small, white, slowly drifting clouds in the sky. There were four of them straight above him. These drifted toward one another, and he cried out: ‘A sign! A sacred sign! Four small clouds are getting together to make one large cloud!’

“And at that all the people in the lodge cried out: ‘The sacred number! Oh, sun! Oh, Above People all! Pity us! Pity us all! Allow us to survive all dangers! Give us long life and happiness!’

“And then, as the sun was setting, Mountain Chief cried out: ‘The four are now one large cloud, and its edge is beginning to turn red! Ai! The red, the sacred color, spreads over it!’

“His voice trembled. Himself, he trembled; for he knew that he was looking—not at an ordinary cloud, but at Red-Top Plume himself, the great cloud god!

“‘Come in! Come in!’ the Kootenai cried to him. And he went back into the lodge and joined in the singing of the sacred song. Four times they sang it, oh, how earnestly! The Kootenai then blew his wing-bone whistle four times. Followed a silence; the people scarcely daring to breathe. And then they heard outside, in a deep and beautiful voice: ‘I am Red-Top Plume! Why have you called me here?’

“‘Red-Top Plume! God of the clouds! Pity us!’ the Kootenai answered. ‘It is a matter of horses; of two fast buffalo runners; both black; one with a white spot on its side. We have lost them. Have you—oh, have you seen them anywhere?’

“‘That is a small thing to call me down about,’ the sky god answered; ‘but, since I am here, I will tell you what I know: Yes, I have seen them. I saw them just now as I came down to earth. They are standing beside the spring just up the hill from where you camped when you lost them.’

“‘Ah! Ah! Ah!’ the people exclaimed in hushed voices. And the Kootenai, questioner of gods and unafraid, cried out: ‘Red-Top Plume! Sacred plumed god of the clouds! You are good to us. Tell us, now, what we can do for you—what sacrifice to do?’

“But he got no answer. Red-Top Plume had gone—gone back to his home in the sky, and the people, rushing out from the lodge, looked up and saw him moving slowly eastward, his beautiful plumes redder than ever. And while the Kootenai and Mountain Chief and the other warriors made sacrifice to him, some young men mounted their horses and rode back to the camping-place where the two horses had been lost, and lo! they found them near the spring where Red-Top Plume had told that they were standing.”

July 22.

Even in my day the many beaver dams in this wide canyon were in good repair, and the ponds were dotted with inhabited beaver lodges. There are few of the little woodcutters here now, but in time to come, under the sure protection of the supervisor of this Glacier National Park, they will become as numerous as they were before the white man came. Talk about beavers to-night brought out a most interesting story by Tail-Feathers-Coming-over-the-Hill. Said he: “Beavers build a great dam, often working moons and moons to complete it. Then, when it is finished, and a great pond created, they build their lodges in the backed-up water, and cut their winter supply of cottonwood, willow, and quaking aspen, which they tow out in convenient lengths and sink in deep water around the lodges.

“Now, after a few winters, they have to move on and build another dam-and-pond, for they will have used up all the available trees and willows around the first pond. But that is still their pond, the clan that built it, and in time, when a new growth of food trees has sprung up around it, they return there, repair the dam, build new lodges, and remain as long as the young trees last.”

WHITE FUR AND HIS BEAVER CLAN

“Away back in the ancient days, when our first fathers were able to talk with the animals, a beaver chief named White Fur, with his family and his relatives, built a big dam on this river. You can still see the remains of it, willow-grown, and it still backs up some water, a pond as large in extent as the camp of our tribe. But in the old days that dam extended from one side to the other of the valley, and the water it backed up was more than a pond: it was a small lake. Above here, there is a swift stream of white water rushing down the north side of the valley from great ice banks in the mountains. Well, just below its junction with the river is where White Fur built the dam.

“Time passed. The sons of other beaver clans came and married the daughters of White Fur’s clan, and took them off, and the sons of his clan went out and found wives and brought them home. The clan increased; the pond became full of lodges; the trees were cut in greater number each succeeding summer. So it was that, when the ice went out one spring, White Fur went around and around the pond, examining the remaining food trees, and saw that there remained only a few more than enough for the coming winter. It was no more than he expected; his last hurried look around, just before the freeze-up in the fall, had warned him that the food supply was getting small.

“He went home, and called a council, told what he had learned on his round, and then said:—

“‘We must move out from here as soon as the ice breaks up next spring, and when we go we must know just where we are going; we cannot afford to lose time hunting for a good place to make a new home. Now, who will start out on discovery?’

“‘I will!’ his eldest son, Loud Slap, first answered. He was so named because he could tail-slap the water louder than any one else in the whole gens.

“Now, Loud Slap was White Fur’s favorite son, and next to himself the best, the wisest dam-builder in the gens. The chief wanted to keep him at home, for going on discovery was very dangerous. But for very shame he could not order him to remain and let some other take the risk. So, with sinking heart, he said: ‘You spoke up first, my son, so you shall be the first one to look for a new home for us. I have had a dream, and I want you to find out if it told me truth: Go down this river a little way beyond the edge of the pines, look north, and you will see a big ridge with a low gap in it. Go up through that gap, and down the other side, and you will soon come to a small branch of a good-sized stream; look at all the branches of that stream for a good home for us, and come back and tell us all about it. Make that crossing through the gap in the daytime, for then the most of our enemies, the mountain lion, the fisher and the wolverine, the wolf and the coyote, are generally asleep. Night is the time that they do their murdering work.’

“‘As you say, so I will do,’ Loud Slap answered.

“And the next morning, some time before daylight, he started down river on his dangerous trail of discovery. Below his pond there were other ponds; and as he swam through them many of the beavers living in them asked him where he was going.

“‘Out on discovery; our food trees will last us only this coming winter; we have to find a new home,’ he answered them all.

“On he went, through the last of the ponds, down the river, swimming fast, so very fast that his big webbed hind feet, swiftly kicking, made the water foam past his breast. He had started out too early; when he passed the last of the pines, daylight was still some time off, so he dived under a pile of driftwood, then crawled up into it, found a good resting-place on one of the logs and went to sleep, sure that none of the prowlers could reach him there.

“The sun shining down through the little openings in the driftwood pile awakened him. He slipped down into the water, made a dive, and came up out in the middle of the river. Near by was a high, sloping bank bare of trees and brush; he swam to shore, climbed it, looked north, and saw the big ridge and the big, low gap in it. He looked all around; no animals were in sight except a few elk, and he knew that they would not harm him: he began waddling toward the gap.

“The sun was hot. Loud Slap’s legs were short; his body fat and heavy; there was no water; he soon became very tired and thirsty, and the top of the gap seemed to be a long way off. More and more often he had to stop and rest, but he kept saying to himself: ‘I will not give up! I will not give up!’—and at last he arrived at the top of the gap. Close up to the top on the other side were thick, cool groves of quaking aspen and willows; as far as he could see, the valley below him and its far side was one green growth of trees, and he knew that somewhere down there was water, plenty of it. Down he went, oh, how easily, on the steeper places just pushing a little with his hind feet and sliding along on his belly. He soon came to a small stream of running water and drank and drank of it, rolled over and over in its shallowness until wet all over, and then he followed it down. Other little streams came into it, and at last it became so deep that he could swim. After a time he came to where this stream joined a much larger one, and he turned and went up it, and away up in the timber found where a dam could be built that would form a very large pond, and best of all the quaking aspens and willows were everywhere there growing so closely together that they formed a food supply that would last a number of winters.

“That night Loud Slap slept in a hole that he dug in a bank of the stream. This is the one which we long ago named Ki-nuk'-si Is-si-sak'-ta. I understand that the white people have another name for it.[5]

“Early next morning Loud Slap came out of his hole, cut down a small quaking aspen, and ate all he wanted of its bark. He then swam down the stream, turned up its little fork, and before the sun was very high left it and took his back trail up through the gap, and before noon was going down the long slope to Cutbank River. The going was easy. But one thing troubled him: the risk that he ran traveling there in that open, waterless country. Whenever he came to a patch of buck brush or a clump of tall grass, he would sit up and look all around to see if any enemy was near; and then he would go on, keeping as close to the ground as possible. Twice he saw a coyote in the distance, and sat motionless until the animal moved on out of sight. And then, when almost to the river, sitting up and looking out from a brush patch, he saw a wolverine coming straight toward him. He trembled; he shivered. ‘Now is my end come!’ he said to himself, and imagined how it was going to feel to be bitten and clawed and torn to death. Because of his helplessness, because he could in no way defend himself, he wept; but silently.

“On came the wolverine, sniffing the ground; sniffing the rocks; the weed growths; and once, when he turned and looked back, Loud Slap threw himself flat there in the brush; he had not dared move before. The wind was from the southwest; the wolverine was coming from the west, and that was one thing in Loud Slap’s favor. But on which side of that patch of brush would he pass? If to the north, then he would scent the beaver-odor trail, follow it, and all would be over. If he passed to the south of the patch, and not too close, then all would be well. From where he lay, flat on the ground in the brush, Loud Slap could see nothing but the brush stems in front of his nose; but presently he heard, close to the patch and to the west of it, the sniff! sniff! sniffle! of his enemy. He closed his eyes; his body shook with fear; he could almost feel strong, sharp-fanged jaws closing upon his neck! The suspense was terribly hard to bear! And then, after what seemed to be a whole moon of time, he heard the sniffling close in front of him; then faint and fainter off in the direction of the river; and presently he opened his eyes, little by little rose up, and looked out from his hiding-place. Lo! Wolverine had come close, close to the brush patch, and south of it, and then had turned, and was now walking slowly toward the river! ‘My enemy passes! I survive!’ Loud Slap said to himself, and would have sung had he dared. Oh, yes, beavers sang in those days, as you shall learn.

“Loud Slap watched the wolverine go on down the valley, and then waddled to the river as fast as he could work his legs. How good it felt, that plunge into the cool water from the bank! and, once into it, he made it foam as he swam homeward against the swift current. Long before night he climbed the dam of the upper pond, and a little later entered his father’s lodge. ‘Ha! Back so soon! What found you, my son?’ old White Fur asked.

“‘A fine stream there on the other side of the gap. A place to dam a large pond. Plenty of food bark trees,’ Loud Slap answered, and then told carefully all about the place, and about his narrow escape from the wolverine. Then his mother went swimming from lodge to lodge of the gens, calling all the heads of the families, and when they had gathered in White Fur’s lodge he told again of his find and of the dangers of the trail. All went home pleased that he had found such a good place for a new home for them.

“White Fur and his whole gens worked very hard that summer to get in sufficient food bark sticks for the winter supply. They had to drag the last of them a long way to water, and they kept at it long after the snow came, and until the ice and cold weather prevented further cutting. The trails they left in the snow, just before the pond froze over, were a sure call to their passing enemies, and they halted and lay in wait beside them, and killed in all five of the members of the gens, one of them Loud Slap’s oldest son. A lynx was seen to spring upon him and carry him off, as he was going out to finish cutting down a large tree.

“The winter passed. When spring came, there was still considerable food bark untouched on the underwater piles, but, oh, how glad the beavers were to be able to swim about again, and eat fresh bark from living tree branches. All were anxious to start at once for the new home across the ridge, but White Fur would not permit it. From the pressure of the winter snows the dead grass of the past summer lay flat: ‘We must wait until the new grass grows high enough to conceal us,’ he said, ‘and then we will go.’

“Of course, he meant those that would be able to go: females with newborn young were to remain where they were until the young should be old enough to travel, and then they were to cross the ridge and join their mates. The new grass came, and when it was a little higher than the top of a beaver’s back, old White Fur and Loud Slap led all those who could go, about fifty of them, down the river on the way to the stream beyond the gap. White Fur had already talked with the chief who lived in the next pond below, and he had promised to keep all newcomers from occupying the pond that White Fur and his gens were leaving for a time.

“The travelers saw no enemy on the trail up through the gap, and, upon arriving at the place that Loud Slap had discovered, were well pleased with it. That very evening, after a heavy meal of bark, they began work on the dam, and by morning had much willow brush laid, butts to the current, across the stream. Night and day, with little rest, they toiled to complete the dam, of sticks and stones and sod and earth, and within two moons’ time they finished it, and had a pond large enough and deep enough for the lodges of the gens, and all the food sticks they would need to sink for winter use. Then, one evening, came those who had been left behind, came with their strong and half-grown young, and all began at once to cut and bring in and sink the winter food supply. Long before winter set in they had stored more than they could possibly use, and from that time until the ice formed they did nothing more than strengthen the dam, and eat and sleep, and play about in the water.

“The winter passed, and more young were born. Came and went another winter, and in the spring more young were born. There were now in the gens many two, and three, and some four-year-olds, both male and female, and they could not mate with one another; something had to be done for them. Old White Fur called a council, and there was much talk about it. Some favored sending scouts away down the Little River to learn if there were any beaver colonies along it. Others, and the greater number, declared that the unmarried males should take the trail through the gap down to Cutbank River, find mates in the different gens having ponds along it, and tell the unmarried males there to come over and take wives from White Fur’s gens. It was decided that this should be done, and one morning more than forty young males started for Cutbank River.

“Days passed; and yet more days, and no wife-seeking beavers came to the pond on Little River. ‘Something is wrong,’ White Fur told Loud Slap.

“‘Ai! Something is wrong. If none come within four days’ time, I shall go over to the Cutbank ponds and learn what the trouble is.’

“The four days passed, and no stranger, not one, came. On the fifth morning Loud Slap once more took the trail for Cutbank, saying to White Fur as he left, ‘If I do not return within four days’ time, then send some one over to learn what the trouble is, for I shall be dead.’

“Down the river went Loud Slap, and up the little fork, and thence along the trail through the gap in the ridge. He moved along very cautiously, keeping a sharp lookout in all directions, and seeing nothing to alarm him. After passing through the gap he saw, on a ridge to the east, a number of wolves following a small band of buffalo, and that pleased him, for, seeking food there, they would not be likely to turn and cross his trail. He hurried on down the slope.

“Suddenly, when near the river, a whirl of wind brought a dreadful odor to his nostrils; an odor of dead and decaying flesh. He stopped, sat up, looked sharply ahead, saw nothing to alarm him, went on a short distance, and came upon a scene that made him shiver; that made him mourn: there, on the trail and on both sides of it, lay his youthful kin who had gone out to seek wives! There they lay, their bodies swollen and bursting, every one of them mangled and torn, several half eaten by their enemies, wolves probably, that had discovered and killed them all! One look at them was enough; he hurried on, weeping, and plunged into the river.

“Upstream he went, faster than he had ever swam before, and soon entered the lower one of the beaver ponds. Straight to the chief’s lodge he swam, and dived down to the entrance, and went up into the big and comfortable grass-floored home.

“‘Ha! Loud Slap! It is you! Welcome you are! Sit youth and give us the news!’ the chief cried out.

“Loud Slap greeted him and gave the news, and both wept over the death of so many of their kind. The chief’s wife went out and spread the news, and there was mourning in every lodge in that pond.

“The chief then gave Loud Slap bad news. Said he: ‘In the early part of this moon came to us a visitor from the big pond at the head of the lake on the next stream south of this river.’ He meant, of course, the great beaver pond just above Lower Two Medicine Lake.

“‘Yes?’ said Loud Slap,—‘yes?’

“‘Ah! He came and visited us and our kin in the other ponds, and gave no reason for his coming, and soon went home. But in a few days’ time he returned with all his gens, and they are many, and took possession of the upper pond, your pond, and at this time they are repairing the dam and backing the water up into the new growth of food trees, which are as thick as they can stand. We told him, we all told him, this chief,—Strong Dam is his name,—that he should not take the pond, as it belongs to you, to your father, White Fur, and his gens. But he said that he did not care who owned it, he had taken it, and would hold it, fight for it against all comers.’

“‘Ha! Is it so!’ Loud Slap cried. ‘We will see about that! Say nothing to any one that I have been here. Tell your people to keep my visit secret from all above here. I go to bring my kindred over, and we will drive that Strong Dam and his gens back whence they came, or kill them all.’

“Loud Slap went back to his Little River home the next day, and told all that he had seen and learned. All mourned and mourned for their dead, and their hearts burned with anger against Strong Dam and his gens. Said White Fur: ‘I am old, old. But I can still fight! We will go over to our pond to-morrow. I will lead you, and we will teach that Strong Dam and his relatives something; we will send them crying back to their pond above the lake!’

“They started the next morning, all the males, and even females that were without young; and they were many, those who were waiting for males of other gentes to come and marry them. Old White Fur led them across to the river without mishap, and up to the first pond, where they visited, and rested, and ate their fill of fresh, green bark. And there some of the females met young unmarried males who wanted to mate with them; and they answered, ‘We will marry you, but first you must fight for us; you must help us drive that Strong Dam and his gens from our pond.’

“‘And is that all you ask?’ they replied. ‘We are only too glad to help you. Who would not fight for his sweetheart should not have one!’

“This gave White Fur something to think about; and after a time he said to Loud Slap: ‘Go, now, on a secret mission: visit the ponds of our friends above here, and say to the unmarried males that our young females here will marry them, but they must first help us drive Strong Dam from this river.’

“‘Ai! That is a good plan,’ said Loud Slap; and he started at once to carry it out. Late that night he returned, and reported that all the young males had agreed to the proposal, and would join White Fur and his kin when they came along.

“‘Let us start now,’ said White Fur; and the advance began, and by the time he reached the dam of his own old pond, he had a large following.

“There was a young man lying there on the dam, a far-back ancestor of ours who had gone there to get his medicine dream; his vision. He was awake; and when, in the bright moonlight, he saw that big, old, white-furred beaver come up on the dam, and a hundred and more beaver following, he could not believe his eyes, and cried out: ‘Am I really and truly awake, or is this a medicine vision?’

“‘Hush! Keep still,’ old White Fur told him. ‘What you see is real. We are come to fight and drive off those here who have stolen our pond and our new growth of food trees. Just you keep still: we want to surprise them. If you see that they are beating us, then give us help. When all is over, I will give you a medicine that will insure you long life and happiness.’

“The young man—No Otter was his name—made signs that he would keep quiet. And he sat there and watched more than a hundred beavers cross the dam close in front of him, and slide quietly into the pond, and even then could hardly believe that he was not dreaming.

“As they entered the water that great war party of beavers swam out in all directions for the shores of the pond, where, scattered all along, Strong Dam and his kin were already cutting the young trees for winter food. And as he watched and listened, the young man heard suddenly a great commotion and squealing all along the shore: the fighting had begun. Then, almost at once, the attacked and the attackers took to the water, and the whole surface of the pond was as if it had been struck by a tornado. It boiled, and eddied, and foamed, and shot high in spray, and with it all was the slap! slap! slap! of beaver tails as the animals struggled and clinched, and floundered and bit, all over its long length and width. And soon beavers, frightened and gasping for breath, and bleeding from many wounds, began to pass on each side of the young man over the dam, and drop into the stream below and disappear in its swift current. And some, unable to climb it, and bleeding from many wounds, died there at the edge of the dam and sank. The water was red with their blood. One of them, crawling out, staggered right up against the young man, and gasped, and died, and he put out his hand and felt of it, its wet coat, the warm but now breathless body, and then for the first time was he sure that what he was witnessing was real, and no dream.

“The fight was over. The last of the enemy had been killed, or had fled down river, and White Fur and his party gathered on the dam. Not all were there: some of them lay dead on the bottom of the pond or sorely wounded on the shore. White Fur directed that they should be helped into the cool lodges, where they would be safe from the prowlers, and there cared for and fed. That done, said White Fur to the young man: ‘You have seen a great sight this night. Had we needed your help I know that you would have given it.’

“‘Yes, you had but to call, and I would have been with you,’ the young man answered.

“‘I know it,’ said White Fur, ‘and just for your good-will I shall give you a strong medicine, and teach you the songs that go with it. But I cannot do this here; you will have to go home with us, to our pond on the next stream to the north.’

“They went there the next day, leaving behind the newly married females and their mates to care for the wounded and make them well. And on the way up through the gap and down to the pond, White Fur and Loud Slap told the young man the story of their lives and their troubles, just as I am telling it to you. And upon reaching the pond on Little River, No Otter remained there a long time with the beavers, the old chief and his son, Loud Slap, giving him a medicine beaver cutting and teaching him the beaver songs. It was a good medicine. He took it home with him, and kept it, and made ceremony with it, and sang the songs as he had been taught to do, and because of that he had great success at war, and in curing the sick, and he lived to great age.

“Kyi! So ends my story.”

July 25.

Yesterday Guardipe, or, as I prefer to call him, AÍ-is-an-ah-mak-an (Takes-Gun-Ahead), climbed with me to the top of White Calf Mountain. There, on the extreme summit of the rough crested mountain, we came upon five bighorn, all ewes, and not one of them with a lamb beside her. During the lambing season here this year there was a continuous downpour of rain and sleet and snow, in which the newborn young undoubtedly perished.

But how tame those five ewes were! We walked to within fifty yards of them, and they gazed at us curiously, now and then nervously stamping the rock with one or the other of their fore feet. And then they circled around us, twice, and finally walked off toward the eastern point of the mountain, often stopping to look back at us, and finally disappeared behind some rock piles.

At the same time Kut'-ai-ko-pak-i (No-Coward-Woman—as my people have named my wife) was having her own experience with the game in this Park. With Miss L——, a Boston friend, she was sitting near the edge of a high, almost cutbank at the edge of the river, when she heard the slow, heavy, twig-snapping tread of an animal back in the brush. She gave her friend a nudge, and pointed in the direction of the sounds, and the two watched and listened. And presently they saw the brush shaking as the animal forced its way through it, and then, half revealed and half concealed in more open brush, they saw a big grizzly coming straight toward them! Right near where they sat a dwarf juniper grew at the edge of the high bank, several of its limbs overhanging it. Without speaking a word, and trembling as though they had ague, they crept to the tree, grasped one of the limbs, and tenaciously gripping it let themselves down over the edge of the bank. And then—the limb broke with a loud snap and down they went along the gravelly incline, so steep that they could get no foothold, over and over, head first, feet first, and sideways, and landed in the river with a loud splash. But they did not mind that: what were bruises and a wetting compared to being mauled by a grizzly? They forded the waist-deep stream and arrived dripping but safe in camp, and were glad to be there! Although this Glacier National Park is only five years old, the game animals within it have already become very tame. The bighorn and the Rocky Mountain goats no longer flee from parties traversing the mountain trails, and the deer and elk and moose have become almost as fearless as they are. As for the bears, they are continually trying to break into the meat-houses of the different camps. Undoubtedly these mountains and forests within the next ten years will fairly be alive with game. And as to trout, the supply is increasing instead of decreasing. In this Cutbank stream alone there have been caught this season in the neighborhood of two thousand trout, weighing from a fourth of a pound up to four pounds, but since the 1st of April seventy thousand young trout, from the Anaconda hatchery, have been put into it.

July 27.

Last night, in Black Bull’s lodge, we had more tales of the long ago in this Cutbank Valley. Would that I had the time to collect all the Blackfeet legends of the various places in their once enormous domain. From the Saskatchewan to the Yellowstone, and from the Rockies between these two streams, eastward for about three hundred miles, there are tales of adventure, of camp-life, and wonderful legends, for every mountain, stream, butte, and spring within that great area. Said Black Bull last night:—

“I will tell you a story that my grandfather told me. It happened in the days of his fathers’ boyhood, and it is called

“THE STORY OF THE BAD WIFE

“One summer in that time the people, having made new lodges, moved up here on Cutbank River to cut new lodge poles, and to gather weasel-eyes,[6] which grew in great quantities back on the high mountain slopes.

“At that time one of the best-liked young men of the tribe was Falling Bear. He was a very brave and successful warrior, and very kind-hearted: he took it upon himself to keep three or four old widows and several old and helpless men supplied with all the meat and skins they could use, and even gave them gentle horses for packing and riding whenever camp was moved. At the time the people moved up here on Cutbank, he had been married but a short time. He had fallen in love with Otter Woman, the most beautiful girl in the tribe, and with her father’s and mother’s consent, and to their great joy and pride, had set up with her a lodge of his own. No word had been so much as whispered against Otter Woman; she was believed to be as good and pure as she was beautiful of face and form.

“The tribe had not been here many days when Falling Bear decided to go to war. Many of the warriors, some of them much older than he, wanted to go with him, but he told them all that this time, because of a dream, a vision he had, he would take no one but his woman. He made full preparation for the war trail, had a sacred sweat with an old medicine man, who was to pray for him during his absence, and then, with his woman, he took the Cutbank trail for the country of the West Side tribes, all of them enemies of the Blackfeet.

“Traveling with great caution, and only at night, he passed through the country of the Flatheads, and came to the plains country of the Nez PercÉs. There he struck the trail of a big hunting party of people, and followed it, and soon found that he was gaining upon them; one early morning he came upon their camping-place which they must have left on the previous afternoon, for in some of the fireplaces there were still live coals deep down in the ashes.

“Now, on the night before he had lost his tobacco, and his desire to smoke was strong within him. So he said to his woman, ‘You go around on that side of the big camping-place and examine every lodge site for tobacco leavings, and I will search this side for it.’ They parted and began their quest.

“The camp had been pitched partly in an open, grassy park, and partly in the timber surrounding it; and because of that Falling Bear and his woman were often out of sight of each other. At one of these times Otter Woman was examining a lodge site and fireplace back in the timber, and, happening to look off to one side, she saw hanging on some brush a fine shield, some beautiful war clothes, and a large fringed and painted medicine pouch. She well knew that these had been spread out to sun by the campers and forgotten, and that some one would be coming back for them, and was about to go after Falling Bear to come and take them when she heard the tread of an approaching horse. So near was it that she had not time to run and hide. She stood still, staring, and almost at once there came in sight, on a black-and-white pinto horse, the handsomest young man that she had ever seen. He was so handsome that to look at him gave her a yearning pain in the heart for him. Just one look, and she had fallen in love with him! She didn’t want to fall in love with him; she just couldn’t help it!

“He, this Nez PercÉ, checked up his horse and sat quiet, staring down at her, and no doubt thought her the handsomest woman he had ever seen. Suddenly she began making signs to him. What a wonderful thing that silent language is! All the tribes of the plains know it. Just by the use of their hands they can express their every thought to one another.

“Signed she: ‘My man is over there! Be quiet. I will go to him, somehow get his weapons from him, then hold him. You come quickly when I cry out, and kill him, and I will go with you; will be your woman.’

“Of course, nothing could have pleased the Nez PercÉ more than that. To kill an enemy and take his beautiful woman, what a big coup that would be! He signed to the woman that what she proposed was good, and slid from his horse and tied it to a tree, then signed to her to go, and he would follow, keeping out of sight.

“The woman crossed the big camping-ground and found her man: ‘I have made a great find,’ she told him. ‘On some bushes over there are hanging beautiful war clothes, a shield, weapons, and a medicine pouch. Leave you your weapons and things here, and come with me, and take them.’

“‘But why should I leave my weapons? One should never be without them,’ he objected.

“‘Because from here goes the trail we are to follow, and you will have all you can do to bring here what I have found,’ she explained.

“He didn’t see any sense in leaving his weapons, but took her word and laid them down, along with his medicine pouch, and his war clothes in their parflÈche (painted cylinder), and followed her out into the open park. ‘The things are right across there in the brush,’ she told him, pointing to the place, and then gradually dropped back to his side, and then a step behind him. Then, as they came near the brush on the far side, she suddenly seized him, endeavoring to squeeze his arms close to his side, so that he could not use them, and at the same time she called out to the Nez PercÉ to come to her assistance. He had been watching, and was already coming as fast as he could run.

“Falling Bear, of course, saw at once the intentions of the two, and as quick as a flash of lightning made up his mind what to do. He only half struggled with the woman, now grasping his neck with one hand and arm, and beating his eyes and face with the other hand. She was fast blinding him, but he stood the pain of it until the Nez PercÉ, with war club raised, was but a step or two away. He then broke loose from the woman, kicked backward, his foot striking her in the stomach and knocking her over, and then he sprang at the Nez PercÉ, seized the arm and hand that held the war club high, and struggled with the man for possession of it. He wrenched it away from him, and with it struck him a hard blow on the head, and he fell, his skull crushed in, and died. The victor scalped him with his own knife, took his war club and his bow and arrows, and then turned to the woman.

“She lay where she had fallen, trembling at what she had done, wishing that she had not done it. ‘Get up. If you spoke truth, if there are war clothes and other things over there, lead me to them,’ Falling Bear told her. “She arose, still trembling, but now with some hope that he was not going to kill her, and led him to the place. His eyes were swelling shut so fast that one was entirely closed, but he could partly use the other. He looked at the things there on the brush: ‘Ah! Here are the war clothes, the shield, the medicine pouch, but where are the weapons?’ he asked.

“The woman did not answer. What could she say? There had been no weapons left on the brush. Falling Bear laughed a laugh that made her shiver, and told her to gather up all that was there and follow him. He unfastened the horse and led it across the camping-place, she following, and he had her take up his own weapons and things and fasten them to the saddle. He then mounted the horse, and told her to lead it and take the back trail home. Before he had ridden far his other eye closed; he was, for the time, wholly blind; but not afraid. He kept close possession of all the weapons, and made the woman do everything that he wanted done. She minded his every word. “Traveling again at night, and hiding in the brush during the daytime, the two passed safely through the country of the Flatheads, and crossed the mountains. On the morning that they approached the camp here on Cutbank, Falling Bear had partly recovered the use of one eye. The other was still swollen shut; it seemed to have been poisoned by the woman’s fingernails.

“When so near the camp that they could plainly see the lodges, Falling Bear told the woman to go on in and tell her relatives to come to him; that he would await them right where he was. They soon came out to him, his father-in-law and his brother-in-law, and when they saw his scarred face and swollen eyes, they cried out: ‘Oh, what has happened to you? Have you been in a fight with a mountain lion?’

“‘Worse than that,’ he answered; ‘this was done to me by the one I most loved and trusted.’ And then he told them all about it, and concluded by giving them the horse and all the things that he had taken from the Nez PercÉ. “When he finished his awful tale the two men, listening closely, were so overcome with shame and grief that for a time they could not speak. But at last Falling Bear’s father-in-law said: ‘I have made up my mind what to do. Come! Let us go on into camp.’

“They went in; Falling Bear to his own lodge—in which his father and mother lived. His woman was not there; she had gone to her father’s lodge. He was glad that she had gone there; he never wanted to see her again. His father asked him to give the story of his war trail, and he answered that he had nothing to say. He was so sick at heart that he could not talk.

“Arrived in his own lodge, and finding his daughter, Otter Woman, there, Falling Bear’s father-in-law told her to go out for a time; and when she was gone he told her mother all that she had done, and then, calling in their son, the three agreed upon the way the bad wife should be punished. They called her in and told her to braid her hair nicely, and to put on her best clothes. And while she was doing that, her father and mother and brother painted their faces black and let down their hair.

“As soon as Otter Woman was dressed, her father said to her: ‘We will now go outside, and you will mount the Nez PercÉ horse. I will lead it, your mother and brother will follow, and we will go all through the camp, stopping here and there to tell the people all about the great wrong you did your man.’

“‘Oh, no, no! Not that!’ Otter Woman cried. ‘I am ashamed enough as it is! I am sorry that I did it! I don’t know how I came to do it; I shall never, never do such a thing again!’

“‘You spoke the truth there,’ said her father. ‘No, you will never do it again!’ And he ordered her to go out ahead of them and mount the horse. She did so and sat upon it, head cast down, looking neither to the right nor left nor ahead: shame was with her. Holding the horse’s rope, the old man shouted: ‘Listen, people, listen.’ And when a crowd had gathered he told them what his daughter had done to her good man, and the people groaned with shame that one of their tribe could be so bad of heart. Some even wept at the horror of it.

“From one part of the camp to another the old man led the little procession, stopping often to tell the shameful story, until all knew it. And then at last he led the horse out into the center of the great circle of the lodges, and told his daughter to dismount. She did so, and, drawing his knife, he stabbed her in the heart and she fell and died. Said he then to his wife: ‘Get women to help you; drag that body far off and leave it, and never let me hear again the name of her who was once my daughter!’

“And the women did as he said. Never again did any one mention Otter Woman in his presence.”

“Ai! A sad story! A story to give one bad dreams! Let us have one of more cheerful nature before we go to bed,” said Stabs-by-Mistake.

“An Old Man story, then,” said Two Guns. “All are laughable.”

“Elder brother, tell us the story of Old Man and the woman,” said Black Bull to Tail-Feathers-Coming-over-the-Hill.

“Ai! That I will,” the chief answered.

But before I set down the story, I must explain Old Man.

Old Man (NÄp'-i) was the god who created the world, and all life upon it, and he was the god of the Blackfeet until, some centuries back, they got from some southern tribe another religion, of which the sun is the principal god. However, they still pray to Old Man, as well as to the gods of the later religion, although in time a great many stories have grown up about Old Man that make him appear to be more of a buffoon than a god. An interesting point about the word nÄp'-i is, that, while it is the term for an old man, its real meaning is dawn, or the first faint, white light that gives birth to the day. And so, in common with the ancient Mexicans, various tribes of the plains, the Aryans and other ancient races of the Old World, the original religion of the Blackfeet was the worship of light personified. Let us have now, the old chief’s story of

OLD MAN AND THE WOMAN

“Having created the world, the animals, grass, trees, all life upon it, Old Man realized that by having men live by themselves, and women by themselves, he had made a mistake. He saw that they should live together. The camps of the two sexes were far apart: the women were living here at the foot of the mountains, in Cutbank Valley, and the men were away down on Two Medicine River. Each camp had a buffalo trap, and subsisted wholly upon the buffalo that were decoyed into it.

“As I have said, Old Man saw that he had made a mistake in keeping men and women apart. In fact, he found that he himself wanted a woman; so he went to the men and said: ‘You shall no longer live by yourselves. Come! We will go up to the camp of the women, and each of us get one of them.’

“The men were more than glad to do that; it was what they had been hoping to do for a long time; so they hurried to put on their best clothes, and neatly braided their hair, and then started off with Old Man for the women’s camp. When they came in sight of it, Old Man told them to stop right there, and he would go ahead and plan with the women just what should be done. They sat down, and he went on to the women’s camp. Himself, he had on his old, soiled clothes; his fine clothes he had left back with the men.

“Arrived in the camp, he found only two or three women there; the woman chief and all the others were down at the buffalo trap, butchering the animals that they had that morning decoyed into it. When he told the few women that he found why he had come, he greatly excited and pleased them, and they started at once to run and tell the others to hurry up from the trap and meet the men.

“‘But wait. Not so fast. I want a word with you,’ Old Man called out; and when they came back to him, he asked: ‘What kind of a woman is your chief?’

“‘Everything that is good, and kind and brave, that is our chief,’ one answered. And another said: ‘Ai! She is all that, and more; and she is the most beautiful woman of us all!’

“This pleased Old Man. He said to himself, ‘That is the woman for me. I must have her.’ And to the waiting women he said: ‘It is right that chief woman should mate with chief man. You women are to come to us, and each select the man you want. Now, tell your chief woman that the chief man is brave and kind and handsome, and that she shall select him for her man. She will know him by the way he is dressed. He wears buckskin shirt and leggings, embroidered with porcupine quills, and a cow-leather robe with a big porcupine-quill embroidered sun in the center of it. You tell her to take him for her man!’

“‘We will do so!’ the women cried, and started off for the buffalo trap as fast as they could run.

“Old Man hurried back to the waiting men, and hurriedly put on his fine clothes, the ones that he had described to the women. “Trembling with excitement, and out of breath from their long, swift run, Old Man’s messengers arrived at the buffalo trap and told their wonderful news,—that men had come to marry them; that each woman was to choose the man that she thought would best suit her. The butchering of the animals ceased at once, and the women started for their camp to put on their good clothes and recomb their hair. They wanted to appear as neat and clean and well dressed as possible, before the men. Yes, all ran for their camp, all except the chief woman. Said she: ‘I cannot leave here until I finish skinning this spotted medicine calf. Go, all of you, and I will join you as soon as I can.’

“The work took more time than she thought would be required, and when she arrived in camp with the valuable skin, she found all the other women dressed and impatient to go and choose their men. ‘Oh, well, it doesn’t matter how I look,’ she said. ‘I am chief; I have a name; I can go choose my man dressed just as I am. How did you say the man chief is dressed?’ “They told her again what he wore, according to what the messenger man had told them, and she said: ‘I’ll choose him. Chief, I suppose, must mate with chief.’

“And so she went right on with the others, wearing her butchering dress, all stiff with blood and grease from the neck down to the bottom of the skirt; and her moccasins were even more foul than the skirt. Her hands were caked with dried blood, and her hair was not even braided.

“Their chief leading, the women approached the waiting men, all of them standing in a line, and singing a song of greeting. Old Man stood at the head of the line, very straight and proud, and of fine appearance in his beautiful new porcupine-embroidered clothes. By these the chief woman recognized him from afar, and said to herself: ‘He is a fine looking man. I hope that he will prove to be as good of heart as he is good to look at.’ And, leading her women, she walked straight up to him and laid a hand on his arm: ‘I will take you for my man,’ she told him.

“But Old Man shrank back, his face plainly showing his loathing of such a bloody and greasy, wild-haired woman.

“‘I take you for my man,’ the woman chief repeated; and then he broke away from her hold and ran behind his men: ‘No! No! I do not want you, bloody, greasy woman,’ he cried, and went still farther off behind his men.

“The woman chief turned to her followers: ‘Go back! Go back to that little hill and there wait for me,’ she told them. And to the men she said, ‘Remain where you are until I return. I shall not be gone long.’ And with that she turned and hurried to her camp. Her women went to the hill. The men remained where they were.

“Down at her camp the chief woman took off her old clothes and bathed in the river. Then she put on her fine clothes, a pair of new moccasins, braided her hair, scented herself with sweetgrass, and returned to her women. She was now better dressed than any of them, and they had told Old Man the truth when they said that she was beautiful of face and form: she was the most beautiful woman of them all. “Again she led her women to the line of waiting men. Again Old Man stood first, stood at the head of them. But she passed him by, as though she did not see him, and he, with a little cry, ran after her, took her by the arm, and said: ‘You are the woman for me. I am the chief of the men: you must take me!’

“She turned upon him, and her eyes were like fire. She tore his hand from her arm, and cried: ‘Never touch me again, good-for-nothing, proud-and-useless man. I would die before I would mate with you.’

“And to her women she said: ‘Do not, any of you, take him for your man.’ And with that she turned and chose a man. The others then, one by one, took their choice of the men. When all had chosen, there was one woman who had no man; all had been taken except Old Man. She would not have him, and became the second wife of one of the men. The choosing over, all started for the women’s camp. Old Man, now very sad-hearted, was for following them; but the chief woman turned and motioned him off. ‘Go away. There is no food for you, no place for you in our camp,’ she told him; and he went away, crying, by himself.

“And that is what Old Man got for being so proud.”

July 30.

We break camp and move northward to-morrow. For the past two days some of us have been riding about on this “Backbone-of-the-World,” as the Blackfeet call the Rocky Mountains, and we have ridden our horses where, in former times, nothing but a bird could go. The Park Supervisor and his engineers and miners and sappers have blasted out trails over the highest parts of the range, making it easy and safe for tenderfeet tourists to view the wonders of this sub-Arctic, greater than Alpine range of mountains. One of the most impressive views is from the summit of the trail from Upper Two Medicine Lake to Cutbank River. The Dry Fork Trail, it is called. At its extreme height the trail is along a mountain crest about thirty feet in width. Mr. L.W. Hill graphically described the stretch the other day, when, after crossing it, he said: “On its east side one can spit straight down three thousand feet into a lake, and on the other side cast a stone that will go down much farther than that!”

Indeed, the view of the mountains and cliffs and canyons from that height is so grand, so stupendous and impressive, that one cannot find words to describe it all.

On another day we went over Cutbank Pass and down the west side of the range, far enough to get a good view of the Pumpelly Glacier, and see the huge ice blocks break from it and drop from a cliff more than two thousand feet in height. They strike the bottom of the canyon with a reverberating crash that can be heard for miles. Just below this glacier, down Nyack Creek three or four miles, is a fine alkaline spring and clay bed where, in other days, old Tail-Feathers-Coming-over-the-Hill and I were wont to go for bighorn, goats, deer, and elk. All these animals came to it in great numbers, and drank the waters, and ate great wads of the salty mud. We once killed a large grizzly there, whose late autumn coat was as black as that of a black bear.

This afternoon we have had further talk about the naming of these mountains. For a wonder, the topographers have not taken away the original name for the outer mountain on the north side of this Cutbank Valley: we find on the map that it is still White Calf Mountain. It was named for one of the greatest chiefs the Montana Blackfeet ever had. As a young man, fresh from his first war trail, he witnessed the signing of the treaty between his people and the representatives of the United States, at the mouth of the Judith River, in 1855, so he must have been born in 1836 or 1837. As a warrior, his rise to fame was rapid, and many are the stories told of his indomitable bravery in facing the enemy. In later years, because of his great interest in the welfare of his people, he became their head chief. He died in Washington, in 1903, while there on tribal business. The right names of the other mountains walling in this valley are as follows: The unnamed mountain next west from White Calf Mountain is Ahk'-sap-ah-ki (Generous Woman); Mount James is Ah'-kow-to-mak-an (Double Runner); Mount Vorhis is O-nis-tai'-na (Wonderful Chief). The west one of the Twin Buttes is Little Plume; the east one is O-nis-tai'-mak-an (Wonderful Runner). And, as I have said, the outer mountain on the south side of the valley is Muk-sin-a' (Angry Woman). All but the last one were named for old-time great chiefs and warriors of my people, and we intend that they shall be so named on the official maps, even if we have to petition the House of Representatives and the Senate, in Washington, to make the change! And you, my readers, lovers of these grandest mountains of our country, will you not be with us in this perfectly proper request?

Said Takes-Gun-Ahead to me this afternoon: “Who are these white men, James, and Vorhis, for whom the mountains were named? Were they great warriors, or presidents, or wise men?” I had to confess that I had never heard of them.

“Huh!” he exclaimed. And “Huh!” all the others, even the women, echoed.