STRENGTH IN TIME OF NEED—AFFLICTED LIKE JOB, WITH BOILS—SCRAPING WITH A POTSHERD PLEASANT—MY PRAYER ROOM—DRESSING BUFFALO ROBES—DINING ON COTTONWOOD BARK—INDIAN SELF-DENIAL.

I suffered much pain at times with the sores that covered my right side, from my face all the way down to my ankle; but, strange to say, the swelling on my knee, which would increase after each day's travel, so that I could scarcely walk across the lodge, would go down when we had occasion to travel, so that I could walk from one camping place to the next.

Some of my readers may think I imagined this to be the case, but it was no imagination of mine, for this continued for several weeks just as I have stated.

After remaining a few days in camp, I was one mass of boils, from the size of a pea to that of a small marble, and so close together that they touched each other. At times I suffered a great deal of pain, and at other times I suffered with itching, which was terrible. This was when the sores were partially healed, and the surface had become hard, and while in this state I often, on a fine day, would go where I could not be seen, get on the sunny side of a hill, strip off my clothes, and, with a flat stick, scrape my sores.

I had read of Job scraping his boils with a potsherd, and pitied him, but if he took as much comfort as I did in scraping mine, he had no need of pity; for to me it was a great pleasure to get rid of the itching, and the scraping tended to relieve me in this respect. The boils, however, would only remain healed about a week, when they would begin to swell for a few days, giving much pain, and then break out again, which caused me to feel faint and weak.

Notwithstanding this affliction I felt blessed of the Lord, and was not discouraged. A short distance from the village there was a large patch of plum bush, about two acres in area, with deer tracks through it, and a large space clear of brush in the center. This I chose for my prayer room during my stay there. I asked the Lord to bless and sanctify it for this purpose, which I feel assured He did. I went there three times a day for prayer, and I felt many times, when praying, that the Lord was there.

This was about the last of November; the weather was very cold, and there was some snow on the ground.

It was a busy time for the women, who were all engaged in drying meat, and dressing robes and skins for sale. We had killed up to date, 1,500 buffaloes, besides other game.

It takes from two to three days to dress a robe. In the first place, they scrape it on the flesh side until it becomes thin, then they soak some of the buffalo's brains in warm water, and put this liquor on the flesh side until it will not retain any more. The brain of an animal is sufficient to dress its skin or robe, and sometimes more than sufficient. After the robe or skin has become well soaked through with the brain liquor, it is stretched tight upon sticks, with the skin side to the sun, if the weather be fine, and if cloudy, a fire is made to dry it. While the drying process is going on, the party dressing it rubs it on the flesh side with a piece of sandstone about the size of a brick. This is continued until it is perfectly dry and soft. All robes and skins are dressed in this manner except small skins, which are rubbed with the hands.

On a fine day, I have seen as many as 70 squaws at work at one time, dressing robes. These robes and skins are their harvest, as much so as a good crop of grain is to the farmer, as they sell all they do not need to traders, who are licensed to purchase from the Indians by the government. A good robe was worth about two dollars in cloth, ammunition, coffee, sugar, salt, etc. Sometimes the Indians would give three or four robes, or even more for a blanket, which was thought to be much better to wear around them than a buffalo robe. The Indians who could afford to wear a blanket, considered themselves much better dressed than their fellows.

The lodges were all made of buffalo skins; it took from five to eighteen skins, according to the size, to make one lodge. These were all made by the squaws.

During our lengthy stay at the place last mentioned, the weather was very cold and stormy, and the feed for our horses was very poor; but there was considerable cottonwood timber growing on the banks of the river, and a good many of the young trees were cut, and the under bark used to feed the horses. They were very fond of it, and I was informed by the Indians that this bark, during the winter months or before the buds burst in spring, was nearly as good for them as corn.

I may here mention that I remember testing the value of this bark as food, myself, during our return journey. We had no meat for three days, except one deer, which was killed when we were a few miles from our meat caches. We had hoped to find game on our journey, but finding none, we were compelled to go without. The third day I felt very faint, and it struck me that if the under bark of the cottonwood tree would feed horses and they could live on it, that it might also serve to stay my hunger. I got some young branches, and scraped off a lot of the bark, cutting it fine. I then asked the Lord to bless and sanctify it to my use. I took a mouthful, and, after chewing it for some time, swallowed the juice. I was about to swallow the bark, also, when it was suggested to me not to do so, that if I did it would clog my system, but that the juice would not. I therefore merely chewed the bark, and swallowed a few mouthfuls of the juice, from which I found relief. For this, and the suggestion not to swallow the bark, I thanked my Heavenly Father.

When the deer was killed upon this journey, it was cut up into small pieces, and distributed to as many as it would supply.

Soon after this, I was invited to eat at the lodge of a young chief and his wife. As soon as I reached the lodge, a piece of this deer was handed to me, about the size of one's hand. This was broiled, and intended for me alone. I knew they both had been without meat as long as I had, and I did not think they had partaken of bark juice as I had, just before.

I therefore cut a small piece off for myself, and asked them to eat the remainder.

The chief said: "No! Indian eat once in three days—good! If not, can buckle up his belt tighter" (which he did); "but white man, or morie tonger, needs to eat three times a day."

Neither he nor his wife would take it, so I ate it.