experienced pilots.  On the first day, they proceeded about eight miles to the southeast, and encamped for the night, still in the valley of Pierre’s Hole.  On the following morning, just as they were raising their camp, they observed a long line of people pouring down a defile of the mountains.  They at first supposed them to be Fontenelle and his party, whose arrival had been daily expected.  Wyeth, however, reconnoitred them with a spy-glass, and soon perceived they were Indians.  They were divided into two parties, forming, in the whole, about one hundred and fifty persons, men, women, and children.  Some were on horseback, fantastically painted and arrayed, with scarlet blankets fluttering in the wind.  The greater part, however, were on foot.  They had perceived the trappers before they were themselves discovered, and came down yelling and whooping into the plain.  On nearer approach, they were ascertained to be Blackfeet.

One of the trappers of Sublette’s brigade, a half-breed named Antoine Godin, now mounted his horse, and rode forth as if to hold a conference.  He was the son of an Iroquois hunter, who had been cruelly murdered by the Blackfeet at a small stream below the mountains, which still bears his name.  In company with Antoine rode forth a Flathead Indian, whose once powerful tribe had been completely broken down in their wars with the Blackfeet.  Both of them, therefore, cherished the most vengeful hostility against these marauders of the mountains.  The Blackfeet came to a halt.  One of the chiefs advanced singly and unarmed, bearing the pipe of peace.  This overture was certainly pacific; but Antoine and the Flathead were predisposed to hostility, and pretended to consider it a treacherous movement.

“Is your piece charged?” said Antoine to his red companion.

“It is.”

“Then cock it, and follow me.”

They met the Blackfoot chief half way, who extended his hand in friendship.  Antoine grasped it.

“Fire!” cried he.

The Flathead levelled his piece, and brought the Blackfoot to the ground.  Antoine snatched off his scarlet blanket, which was richly ornamented, and galloped off with it as a trophy to the camp, the bullets of the enemy whistling after him.  The Indians immediately threw themselves into the edge of a swamp, among willows and cotton-wood trees, interwoven with vines.  Here they began to fortify themselves; the women digging a trench, and throwing up a breastwork of logs and branches, deep hid in the bosom of the wood, while the warriors skirmished at the edge to keep the trappers at bay.

The latter took their station in a ravine in front, whence they kept up a scattering fire.  As to Wyeth, and his little band of “downeasters,” they were perfectly astounded by this second specimen of life in the wilderness; the men, being especially unused to bushfighting and the use of the rifle, were at a loss how to proceed.  Wyeth, however, acted as a skilful commander.  He got all his horses into camp and secured them; then, making a breastwork of his packs of goods, he charged his men to remain in garrison, and not to stir out of their fort.  For himself, he mingled with the other leaders, determined to take his share in the conflict.