indefinite
time, Jack Carleton was quick to acquaint himself with the interior. The
structure, as I have said, stood near the middle of the village, and was
the largest of the collection. It is rare that an aboriginal building
bears such resemblance to those made by the white men of the border, for
the American race has never shown any aptitude in architecture.

Ogallah's house was a log cabin, perhaps twenty feet long by half as
many wide. The logs were roughly dovetailed at the corners, but none of
the numerous crevices were stopped by mortar or clay, and daylight
could be discerned through many a rent, which in cold weather admitted
the keen cutting wind.

A single opening served as a door. Aboriginal ingenuity could not pass
beyond this rude contrivance, so having opened the way for ingress and
egress, the builder was content to hang a bison skin as a curtain. This
could be readily pulled aside by any one, and the door locked by
fastening the corners. Windows are a sinful extravagance to the American
Indian, and there was not one in the village to which Jack Carleton was
taken. When the open door, the burning fire, the hole which answered for
a chimney, and the numerous crevices did not give enough light for the
interior, the occupants went outside to obtain it.

Having put up the four walls of logs and roofed them with branches,
covered with leaves, dirt and grass, Ogallah was content to lean back,
fold his arms and smoke his pipe in placid triumph. The floor was the
earth, worn hard and smooth by the feet of the family, and the fire was
kindled on the ground at the further end, where the vapor found its way
through the irregular opening made for the purpose. There was nothing in
the nature of a chair or bench in the place. Bison and deer robes
formed the couches, and the pegs driven in the logs held blankets, bows,
and furs of animals (most of the last, however, lying on the ground),
leggings and other articles worn by the chieftain and his wife.

These two were the only occupants of the place previous to the coming of
Jack Carleton. Ogallah was in middle life, and had been the father of
but a single son, who died while yet a papoose. His wife was tall and
muscular, evidently a woman with a strong will, and well worthy to be
the consort of an Indian chief. She did not rush to her husband and
embrace him the moment she caught sight of him. Indeed, she had not
ventured outside the lodge, though she could not have