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.

In the meantime, an express had been sent off to the rendezvous for
reinforcements. Captain Sublette, and his associate, Campbell, were at
their camp when the express came galloping across the plain, waving his
cap, and giving the alarm; "Blackfeet! Blackfeet! a fight in the upper