“In this wise was the subject discussed by these superstitious people during my absence, and such were the reasons given by my friend Mr. Laidlaw, for his friendly advice; wherein he cautioned me against exposing my life in their hands, advising me to take some other route than that which I was pursuing down the river, where I would find encamped at the mouth of Cabri river, eighty miles below, several hundred Indians belonging to the Little Bear’s band, and I might possibly fall a victim to their unsatiated revenge. I resumed my downward voyage in a few days, however, with my little canoe, which ‘Ba’tiste and Bogard paddled and I steered,’ and passed their encampment in peace, by taking the opposite shore. The usual friendly invitation however, was given (which is customary on that river), by skipping several rifle bullets across the river, a rod or two ahead of us. To those invitations we paid no attention, and (not suspecting who we were), they allowed us to pursue our course in peace and security. Thus rested the affair of the Dog and its consequences, until I conversed with Major Bean, the agent for these people, who arrived in St. Louis some weeks after I did, bringing later intelligence from them, assuring me that ‘_the Dog had at length been overtaken and killed_, near the Black-hills, and that the affair might now for ever be considered as settled.’” Thus happened, and thus terminated the affair of “the Dog,” wherein have fallen three distinguished warriors; and wherein _might_ have fallen one “_great medicine-man_!” and all in consequence of the operations of my brush. The portraits of the three first named will long hang in my Gallery for the world to gaze upon; and the head of the latter (whose hair yet remains on it), may probably be seen (for a time yet) occasionally stalking about in the midst of this Collection of Nature’s dignitaries. The circumstances above detailed, are as correctly given as I could furnish them! and they have doubtless given birth to one of the most wonderful traditions, which will be told and sung amongst the Sioux Indians from age to age; furnishing one of the rarest instances, perhaps, on record, of the extent to which these people may be carried by the force of their superstitions. After I had related this curious and unfortunate affair, I was called upon to proceed at once with the +STORY OF WI-JUN-JON (the pigeon’s egg head);+ and I recited it as I first told it to poor Ba’tiste, on a former occasion, which was as follows:— “Well, Ba’tiste, I promised last night, as you were going to sleep, that I would tell you a story this morning—did I not? “Oui, Monsieur, oui—de ‘Pigeon’s Head.’ “No, Ba’tiste, the ‘Pigeon’s Egg Head.’ “‘Well den, Monsieur Cataline, de ‘Pigeon Egg’s Head.’ “No, Ba’tiste, you have it wrong yet. The Pigeon’s Egg Head. “‘Sacré—well, ‘_Pee—jonse—ec—head_.’ “Right, Ba’tiste. Now you shall hear the ‘Story of the Pigeon’s Egg Head.’