Well, Ba’tiste, this then is what you call being a free trapper is it? Oui, Monsr. “free trappare,” free! You seem to be going down towards the Yellow Stone, and probably have been out on a trapping excursion. Oui, Monsr. c’est vrai. Have you been robbed this time, Ba’tiste? Oui, Monsr. by de dam Pieds noirs—I am loose much; I am loose all—very all——eh bien——pour le dernier—c’est le dernier fois, Monsr. I am go to Yel Stone—I am go le Missouri down, I am go to St. Louis. Well, Ba’tiste, I am to figure about in this part of the world a few weeks longer, and then I shall descend the Missouri from the mouth of Yellow Stone, to St. Louis; and I should like exceedingly to employ just such a man as you are as a voyageur with me—I will give you good wages, and pay all your expenses; what say you? Avec tout mon cour, Monsr. remercie, remercie. It’s a bargain then, Ba’tiste; I will see you at the mouth of Yellow Stone. Oui, Monsr. in de Yel Stone, bon soir, bon soir, Monsr. But stop, Ba’tiste, you told me those were Crows encamped yonder. Oui, Monsieur, oui, des Corbeaux. And I suppose you are their interpreter? Non, Monsieur. But you speak the Crow language? Ouis, Monsieur. Well then, turn about; I am going to pay them a visit, and you can render me a service.—Bien, Monsieur, allons. [2] Wyöming. LETTER—No. 10. MANDAN VILLAGE, _UPPER MISSOURI_. Soon after the writing of my last Letter, which was dated at the Mouth of Yellow Stone, I embarked on the river for this place, where I landed safely; and have resided for a couple of weeks, a guest in this almost subterraneous city—the strangest place in the world; where one sees in the most rapid succession, scenes which force him to mirth—to pity and compassion—to admiration—disgust; to fear and astonishment. But before I proceed to reveal them, I must give you a brief sketch of my voyage down the river from the Mouth of the Yellow Stone river to this place, a distance of 200 miles; and which my little note-book says, was performed somewhat in the following manner: When I had completed my rambles and my sketches in those regions, and Ba’tiste and Bogard had taken their last spree, and fought their last battles, and forgotten them in the final and affectionate embrace and farewell (all of which are habitual with these game-fellows, when settling up their long-standing accounts with their fellow-trappers of the mountain streams); and after Mr. M‘Kenzie had procured for me a snug little craft, that was to waft us down the mighty torrent; we launched off one fine morning, taking our leave of the Fort, and the friends within it; and also, for ever, of the beautiful green fields, and hills, and dales, and prairie bluffs, that encompass the enchanting shores of the Yellow Stone.