hing in a small stream. The good old chief immediately came to a
halt, and had a long conversation with them, in the course of which he
repeated to them the whole history which Captain Bonneville had related
to him. In fact, he seems to have been a very sociable, communicative
old man; by no means afflicted with that taciturnity generally charged
upon the Indians. On the contrary, he was fond of long talks and long
smokings, and evidently was proud of his new friend, the bald-headed
chief, and took a pleasure in sounding his praises, and setting forth
the power and glory of the Big Hearts of the East.

Having disburdened himself of everything he had to relate to his bathing
friends, he left them to their aquatic disports, and proceeded onward
with the captain and his companions. As they approached the Way-lee-way,
however, the communicative old chief met with another and a very
different occasion to exert his colloquial powers. On the banks of the
river stood an isolated mound covered with grass. He pointed to it with
some emotion. "The big heart and the strong arm," said he, "lie buried
beneath that sod."

It was, in fact, the grave of one of his friends; a chosen warrior of
the tribe; who had been slain on this spot when in pursuit of a war
party of Shoshokoes, who had stolen the horses of the village. The enemy
bore off his scalp as a trophy; but his friends found his body in
this lonely place, and committed it to the earth with ceremonials
characteristic of their pious and reverential feelings. They gathered
round the grave and mourned; the warriors were silent in their grief;
but the women and children bewailed their loss with loud lamentations.
"For three days," said the old man, "we performed the solemn dances for
the dead, and prayed the Great Spirit that our brother might be happy
in the land of brave warriors and hunters. Then we killed at his grave
fifteen of our best and strongest horses, to serve him when he should
arrive at the happy hunting grounds; and having done all this, we
returned sorrowfully to our homes."

While the chief was still talking, an Indian scout came galloping up,
and, presenting him with a powder-horn, wheeled round, and was speedily
out of sight. The eyes of the old chief now brightened; and all his
self-importance returned. His petty mystery was about to explode.
Turning to Captain Bonneville, he pointed to a hill hard by, and
informed him, that behind it was a village governed by