I had looked upon these Indians of the desert as the enemies of the white men, and believed they would rob and kill them whenever found. How different my feelings are towards them to-day! No nation or people could have treated me with more kindness. I lived in the best house, or lodge, in the village. I had the best seat (a good pillow) at their councils. I had the best food the nation afforded to eat, and was treated by the chiefs, soldiers, braves and people, both old and young, as though I was their king. I always found they wished to be friendly with the white men if they would treat them aright; but the Indians had been deceived by them in trade and treaty, and for this they had rebelled at times. The old chiefs always taught their young men to be good, and be at peace if others wished peace, and only fight when others were determined to fight with them. They informed me, I am sorry to say, that white men had often been sent to trade with them for their robes and skins, and had cheated them by giving less and poorer goods for their things than they had promised; thus getting their robes for little or nothing, and telling them that they would send them horses, and then never doing it. CHAPTER VIII. SYMPTOMS OF DEATH--NO HOPES OF LIVING--PONCA MANNER OF BURYING THE DEAD--DREAD OF HAVING MY BODY MANGLED BY THE WOLVES--DECIDE TO BARGAIN WITH THE INDIANS TO CUT UP MY BODY AND TAKE IT TO MY FRIENDS--HAPPY ASSURANCE THAT I SHOULD LIVE, ETC. On Christmas day my knee and right side were badly swollen. I had been suffering much pain for two days, and I feared if it continued the disease would strike inwardly, and that if so, I could not live. At noon my knee was nearly as large as my head; but it did not hurt me to walk slowly, and I concluded that I would go and pray, believing it would be the last time I would be able to do so, for my faith about living had left me, and I felt that I could not live twenty-four hours longer. I had always felt very indifferent about what might become of my body after death, but now I felt quite the reverse. The Ponca Indians bury their dead in a shallow hole, packing a mound of sward over the body. The ground was so deeply frozen that if I died and the Indians tried to give me a decent burial, they could not possibly dig up much sod to put over me, not enough to protect me from the wolves, which were very numerous around the camp. The idea of my body being pulled limb from limb, and scattered all over the country, caused me to feel very sad, for you must know I felt sure I should die, and that too in a few hours. It was a most horrible feeling, for I could almost fancy I saw my body being pulled to pieces and my bones picked clean of flesh and sinew, and scattered all over the country. While these horrible thoughts were passing through my mind I was steadily nearing my prayer room, where, on arriving, I knelt down and prayed as I never had before.