Reservation to visit his mother. As an Indian he rather disgusted
Ollie.

"If I were a big six-foot Indian," he said, after our
passenger had gone, "I think I'd carry a tomahawk, and wear a
feather or two at least. I don't see what's the advantage of
being an Indian if you're going to act just like a white man."

We camped that night in a beautiful nook in a bluff near a
little stream. The next day we reached Running Water. The
ferry-boat was a little thing, with a small paddle-wheel on each
side operated by two horses on tread-mills. A man stood at the
stern with a long oar to steer it. The river was not so wide here
as at Yankton, but the current was swifter, which no doubt gave
the place its name. It looked very doubtful if we should ever get
across in the queer craft, but after a long time we succeeded in
doing so. It gave us a good opportunity to study the water of the
river, which looked more like milk than water, owing to the fine
clay dissolved in it. The ferry-man thought very highly of the
water, and told us proudly that a glass of it would never settle
and become clear.

"It's the finest drinking-water in the world," he said. "I
never drink anything else. Take a bucket of it up home every
evening to drink overnight. You don't get any of this clear
well-water down me."

We tasted of it, but couldn't see that it was much different
from other water.