war-club of his victim, killed four others within the fort.  The victory was complete, and Rose returned to the Crow village covered with glory, and bearing five Blackfoot scalps, to be erected as a trophy before his lodge.  From this time, he was known among the Crows by the name of Che-ku-kaats, or “the man who killed five.”  He became chief of the village, or rather band, and for a time was the popular idol.  His popularity soon awakened envy among the native braves; he was a stranger, an intruder, a white man.  A party seceded from his command.  Feuds and civil wars succeeded that lasted for two or three years, until Rose, having contrived to set his adopted brethren by the ears, left them, and went down the Missouri in 1823.  Here he fell in with one of the earliest trapping expeditions sent by General Ashley across the mountains.  It was conducted by Smith, Fitzpatrick, and Sublette.  Rose enlisted with them as guide and interpreter.  When he got them among the Crows, he was exceedingly generous with their goods; making presents to the braves of his adopted tribe, as became a high-minded chief.

This, doubtless, helped to revive his popularity.  In that expedition, Smith and Fitzpatrick were robbed of their horses in Green River valley; the place where the robbery took place still bears the name of Horse Creek.  We are not informed whether the horses were stolen through the instigation and management of Rose; it is not improbable, for such was the perfidy he had intended to practice on a former occasion toward Mr. Hunt and his party.

The last anecdote we have of Rose is from an Indian trader.  When General Atkinson made his military expedition up the Missouri, in 1825, to protect the fur trade, he held a conference with the Crow nation, at which Rose figured as Indian dignitary and Crow interpreter.  The military were stationed at some little distance from the scene of the “big talk”; while the general and the chiefs were smoking pipes and making speeches, the officers, supposing all was friendly, left the troops, and drew near the scene of ceremonial.  Some of the more knowing Crows, perceiving this, stole quietly to the camp, and, unobserved, contrived to stop the touch-holes of the field-pieces with dirt.  Shortly after, a misunderstanding occurred in the conference:  some of the Indians, knowing the cannon to be useless, became insolent.  A tumult arose.  In the confusion, Colonel O’Fallan snapped a pistol in the face of a brave, and knocked him down with the butt end.  The Crows were all in a fury.  A chance-medley fight was on the point of taking place, when Rose, his natural sympathies as a white man suddenly recurring, broke the stock of his fusee over the head of a Crow warrior, and laid so vigorously about him with the barrel, that he soon put the whole throng to flight.  Luckily, as no lives had been lost, this sturdy rib roasting calmed the fury of the Crows, and the tumult ended without serious consequences.