A number of us left the lodge early in the morning, and strolled towards the banks of the Platte. A few gaunt, sinewy wolf-dogs were prowling about the silent village, in search of food. The savages had not yet left their lairs, except one or two solitary individuals, muffled in their robes, who at sight of us, hurried to their abodes to give information that the strangers were stirring. Occasionally, as we passed the dark funnel-like mouth of the dwellings, the half of a face would be seen, cautiously looking out, and after staring at us for an instant, would vanish into the interior to call out the rest of the inhabitants. We had not proceeded far, before about a dozen half-starved Indian wolf-dogs collected at our heels. Here they followed, raising their nostrils, baring their long white fangs, and uttering deep growls. Their green flashing eyes; their long bristling hair; and their tails stiffly extended as they slowly stalked after us, convinced us that they waited only for the slightest appearance of fear on our part, to commence an attack. It also plainly showed that however welcome our appearance might be to the Indians, there were some members of the village who did not participate in the general feeling of joy. In spite, however, of this show of ill will, we continued our walk until we reached the Platte. Here we seated ourselves upon the trunk of a tree lying prostrate on the bank of the river. In the meantime, the Indians had received intelligence of our movements, and began to edge towards the stream. The children came running openly and in droves. The old men and warriors carelessly sauntered along towards the water, and came down upon us as if by accident. Others more modest, crouched down in the long grass, creeping stealthily forward, until every stump concealed a painted form, and every bush was alive with curious faces. Nearest to us was a tall, thin Indian, clad in an old, worn-out buffalo-robe. There was a “gallows-bird” look about him,—no doubt some prodigal son, disinherited by a crusty old curmudgeon father. He was standing with his back half towards us, and his face turned away, apparently gazing up the river; the very attitude to “give the lie” to his eyes, which were convulsively straining towards us, from the corner of their sockets, and scanning our every movement with an intense and eager curiosity. At length one of the party wishing to inquire about our horses, beckoned him forward. This was a signal for all the rest. They came trooping up from every quarter, under the pretence of giving information; and upon every sign made by us, about twenty tongues gabbled unintelligible answers. After spending about half an hour upon the banks, and finding that nothing was to be gained in the way of information, we turned off in the direction of the village.