trees, and running in the bottom of a deep woody hollow. We were about
to descend into it, when a wild and confused procession appeared,
passing through the water below, and coming up the steep ascent toward
us. We stopped to let them pass. They were Delawares, just returned
from a hunting expedition. All, both men and women, were mounted on
horseback, and drove along with them a considerable number of pack
mules, laden with the furs they had taken, together with the buffalo
robes, kettles, and other articles of their traveling equipment, which
as well as their clothing and their weapons, had a worn and dingy
aspect, as if they had seen hard service of late. At the rear of the
party was an old man, who, as he came up, stopped his horse to speak to
us. He rode a little tough shaggy pony, with mane and tail well knotted
with burrs, and a rusty Spanish bit in its mouth, to which, by way of
reins, was attached a string of raw hide. His saddle, robbed probably
from a Mexican, had no covering, being merely a tree of the Spanish
form, with a piece of grizzly bear's skin laid over it, a pair of rude
wooden stirrups attached, and in the absence of girth, a thong of hide
passing around the horse's belly. The rider's dark features and keen
snaky eyes were unequivocally Indian. He wore a buckskin frock, which,
like his fringed leggings, was well polished and blackened by grease and
long service; and an old handkerchief was tied around his head. Resting
on the saddle before him lay his rifle; a weapon in the use of which
the Delawares are skillful; though from its weight, the distant prairie
Indians are too lazy to carry it.

"Who's your chief?" he immediately inquired.

Henry Chatillon pointed to us. The old Delaware fixed his eyes intently
upon us for a moment, and then sententiously remarked: