The Crows are a wandering tribe, usually found in the upper plains around the head-waters of the Great Platte, Snake, and Yellowstone Rivers. They are variously estimated at from 5,500 to 7,000. The general opinion seems to be, that they are the most arrant rascals among the western mountains. The traders say, “They have never been known to keep a promise, or do an honorable act.” No white man or Indian trusts them. Murder and robbery are their principal employments. Catlin is disposed to modify this view of the tribe, though he admits that such is their reputation. He says they are distinguished for their elegant lodges, and their beautiful skin dresses. They are always at war with the Blackfeet, in consequence of which they suffer greatly in battle. The Blackfeet are a well known numerous and warlike tribe of Indians residing on the branches of the Missouri above the Great Falls. Various estimates have been made of their numbers. Catlin supposes that they may reckon as many as 40,000 or 50,000. In the year 1828, they suffered very severely by the small-pox, which was introduced among them in consequence of their stealing a blanket from the steamboat of the American Fur Company on the Yellowstone, which had belonged to a man who had died of that disease. The infected article, being carried to their encampment upon the left fork of the Missouri, spread the dreadful infection among the whole tribe. They were amazed at the appearance of the disease. The red blotch, the bile, the congestion of the lungs, liver, and brain, were all new to their medicine-men; and the corpse, falling in pieces while they buried it, struck horror into every heart. In their frenzy and ignorance, they increased the number of their sweat-ovens upon the banks of the stream; and whether the burning fever or the want of nervous action prevailed, whether frantic with pain, or tottering in death, they were placed in them, sweated profusely, and plunged into the snowy waters of the river. The mortality which followed this treatment was like that of the great plague in London. They endeavoured for a time to bury the dead, but these were soon more numerous than the living. Mad with superstition and fear, brother forsook sister; father his son; mother her sucking child. They fled to the elevated vales among the western heights, where the influences of the climate, operating on the already well-spent energies of the disease, restored the remainder of the tribe to health. To this hour do the bones of seven or eight thousand Blackfeet lie unburied among the decaying lodges of their deserted village on the banks of the Yellowstone.