n appeared before the
stern foe, dressed with exquisite taste, and bearing the calumet.
Blackbird's heart softened, he accepted the sacred emblem, and concluded a
peace with his enemy. The pledge given and received was the beautiful
Ponca maiden, as wife to the fierce chieftain of Omaha.

For the first time the heart of Blackbird felt the genial influence of
love. He loved the young creature who had saved her tribe, with all the
ardor of untutored nature. But he was still a savage, and sometimes
ungovernable bursts of rage would transport him beyond all bounds of
affection or decency. In one of these, his beloved wife unwittingly
offended him. He instantly drew his knife and laid her dead with a single
blow. The dreadful deed calmed him in a moment. For a little while he
looked at the beautiful corpse in stupid grief, and then, with his head
wrapped in his robe, he sat down beside it. He ate no food, spake no word
for three days. The remonstrances of his people were received with
silence, and no one dared to uncover his face. At length one of them
brought in a small child, and placed the foot of the unhappy warrior on
its neck. Blackbird was moved by the significant appeal and throwing aside
his robe, he arose and delivered an oration.

The Omaha tribe were greatly thinned by small-pox, and to this loathsome
disease their great chieftain fell a victim. His dying request was bold
and fanciful. Near the source of the Missouri is a high solitary rock,
round which the river winds in a nearly circular direction, and which
commands a view of the adjacent country for many miles around. There
Blackbird had often sat to watch for the canoes of the white traders, and
there it was his dying request to be buried. He was to be mounted upon his
horse, completely armed, so as to overlook his lands, and watch for the
coming boat of the white men. His orders were obeyed; and on that same
high promontory, over the tomb of the Indian warrior was raised his
national banner, capped with the scalps which he had taken in battle. Of
course the Indians regard the rock with superstitious reverence, and have
their own stories of the scenes which occasionally take place on and
around it.

A DESPERATE ADVENTURE.

While encamped on the 24th of April, at a spring near the Spanish Trail,
we were surprised by the sudden appearance amongst us of two Mexicans; a
man and a boy. The name of the man was Andreas Fuentas, and that of the
boy, a ha