"But why should my uncle's party have gone into such a dangerous country
when they knew that the natives were so hostile?"

"It is a mighty big place, it is pretty nigh as big as all the eastern
states chucked into one, and the red-skins are not thick. No one knows
how many there are, but it is agreed they are not a big tribe. Then it
ain't like the plains, where a party travelling can be seen by an Indian
scout miles and miles away. It is all broken ground, canons and valleys
and rocks. Then again, when we get on the other side of the Wind River
they tell me there are big forests. That is so, chief, isn't it?"

The chief nodded. "Heap forests," he said, "higher up rocks and bad
lands; all bad. In winter snow everywhere on hills. Red-skins not like
cold; too much cold, wigwam no good."

"That's it, you see, Tom. We are here a long way above the sea-level,
and so in the hills you soon get above the timber-line. It's barren land
there, just rock, without grass enough for horses, and in winter it is
so all-fired cold that the Indians can't live there in their wigwams. I
reckon their villages are down in the sheltered valleys, and if we don't
have the bad luck to run plump into one of these we may wander about a
mighty long time before we meet with a red-skin. That is what you mean,
isn't it, chief?"

Leaping Horse grunted an assent.

"What game is there in the country?"

"There are wapitis, which are big stag with thundering great horns, and