evidences of civilization, even if it is on an Indian reservation
several days' ride from the nearest home of the white man.

_July 2.--I go this morning to visit Tsauwiat. This old chief is but the
wreck of a man, and no longer has influence. Looking at him one can
scarcely realize that he is a man. His skin is shrunken, wrinkled, and
dry, and seems to cover no more than a form of bones. He is said to be
more than 100 years old. I talk a little with him, but his conversation
is incoherent, though he seems to take pride in showing me some medals
that must have been given him many years ago. He has a pipe which he
says he has used a long time. I offer to exchange with him, and he seems
to be glad to accept; so I add another to my collection of pipes. His
wife, "The Bishop," as she is called, is a very garrulous old woman; she
exerts a great influence, and is much revered. She is the only Indian
woman I have known to occupy a place in the council ring. She seems
very much younger than her husband, and, though wrinkled and ugly, is
still vigorous. She has much to say to me concerning the condition of
the people, and seems very anxious that they should learn to cultivate
the soil, own farms, and live like white men. After talking a couple of
hours with these old people, I go to see the farms. They are situated in
a very beautiful district, where many fine streams of water meander
across alluvial plains and meadows. These creeks have a considerable
fall, and it is easy to take their waters out above and overflow the
lands with them.

It will be remembered that irrigation is necessary in this dry climate
to successful farming. Quite a number of Indians have each a patch of
ground of two or three acres, on which they are raising wheat, potatoes,
turnips, pumpkins, melons, and other vegetables. Most of the crops are
looking well, and it is rather surprising with what pride they show us