Montero had not been long encamped among them, when he discovered that the Blackfeet were hovering about the neighborhood.  One day the hunters came galloping into the camp, and proclaimed that a band of the enemy was at hand.  The Crows flew to arms, leaped on their horses, and dashed out in squadrons in pursuit.  They overtook the retreating enemy in the midst of a plain.  A desperate fight ensued.  The Crows had the advantage of numbers, and of fighting on horseback.  The greater part of the Blackfeet were slain; the remnant took shelter in a close thicket of willows, where the horse could not enter; whence they plied their bows vigorously.

The Crows drew off out of bow-shot, and endeavored, by taunts and bravadoes, to draw the warriors Out of their retreat.  A few of the best mounted among them rode apart from the rest.  One of their number then advanced alone, with that martial air and equestrian grace for which the tribe is noted.  When within an arrow’s flight of the thicket, he loosened his rein, urged his horse to full speed, threw his body on the opposite side, so as to hang by one leg, and present no mark to the foe; in this way he swept along in front of the thicket, launching his arrows from under the neck of his steed.  Then regaining his seat in the saddle, he wheeled round and returned whooping and scoffing to his companions, who received him with yells of applause.

Another and another horseman repeated this exploit; but the Blackfeet were not to be taunted out of their safe shelter.  The victors feared to drive desperate men to extremities, so they forbore to attempt the thicket.  Toward night they gave over the attack, and returned all-glorious with the scalps of the slain.  Then came on the usual feasts and triumphs, the scalp-dance of warriors round the ghastly trophies, and all the other fierce revelry of barbarous warfare.  When the braves had finished with the scalps, they were, as usual, given up to the women and children, and made the objects of new parades and dances.  They were then treasured up as invaluable trophies and decorations by the braves who had won them.

It is worthy of note, that the scalp of a white man, either through policy or fear, is treated with more charity than that of an Indian.  The warrior who won it is entitled to his triumph if he demands it.  In such case, the war party alone dance round the scalp.  It is then taken down, and the shagged frontlet of a buffalo substituted in its place, and abandoned to the triumph and insults of the million.

To avoid being involved in these guerillas, as well as to escape from the extremely social intercourse of the Crows, which began to be oppressive, Montero moved to the distance of several miles from their camps, and there formed a winter cantonment of huts.  He now maintained a vigilant watch at night.  Their horses, which were turned loose to graze during the day, under heedful eyes, were brought in at night,