The Black Hills, forming the dividing line between the waters of the Missouri and those of the Arkansas and Mississippi, were soon reached, and unappalled by the wild tales told of the genii, or thunder spirits, who would resent their intrusion, the Canadians endeavored to cross them. They failed in doing so, and their guide attributed their failure to the obstacles thrown in their way by the invisible “Lords of the Mountain.” Of their interference, however, Hunt has given no record, his account being simply that he had to turn back because of the physical peculiarities of the mountains, their wild ravines and terrible precipices being simply impassable to all but the black-tailed deer, and the strange ahsata or big horns haunting its lonely defiles. A considerable détour southward had to be made, and a path was finally found along a ridge dividing the tributary waters of the Yellowstone and Missouri Rivers, and on the 22nd August they met the first Crow warrior, who proved to belong to a large band returning from their annual trading trip to the Mandan country. Rose was now sent on in advance, to hold a parley with his friends, and invite some of them to come to the Canadian camp. This many readily consented to do, and Hunt was agreeably surprised at the manly bearing of some of the young horsemen among his visitors, proving that, but for the timely warning received, it might have gone hardly with his party among them. Old and young, rich and poor among this mountain tribe were mounted on steeds of some description, and managed their horses with unrivaled skill; the very babies, too young to speak, were tied on small colts or ponies, and wielded their whips as if by instinct. Escorted by some two hundred equestrians, the dreaded passage of the Crow country was made, and the hunting-grounds of the Shoshones reached in safety. Rose and his dusky comrades were dismissed, and their places supplied by Shoshone trappers, who allowed the white men to share in their hunting expeditions, and led them to a commanding height, from which they pointed out three snow-clad mountain peaks, beneath which, they said, rose the Columbia. Overjoyed at the thought of being almost within sight of the river at the mouth of which their comrades were awaiting them, the little band pressed on with renewed vigor, and on the 24th September they reached the banks of a wide and rapid river――known as the Mad among the natives, on account of its wild and turbulent course――where a consultation was held as to whether it should or should not be followed. It was wide and deep enough to admit the passage of canoes, and it might possibly flow into the Columbia. The Canadians one and all preferred traveling by water to “scrambling over the backs of mountains,” their trips up and down the St. Lawrence and across the Great Lakes having rendered them the most expert of oarsmen. Already they saw themselves shooting from the Mad River into the Columbia, and thence to Astoria.