In about half an hour, our whole troop were safely landed on the bank of the Platte, opposite the town of the Grand Pawnees. In the faint distance we could perceive the inhabitants, still standing upon the tops of the lodges, and watching our movements. A few who had lingered in our train, and crossed the river with us, now prepared to return. After sunning themselves for a short time on the dry grass, to take off the chill they had received in swimming across the cold current, they again plunged into the river. Their dark heads and bodies, were seen scattered over its whole breadth; until shut out from our view by one of the hills of the prairie. The distance between the Grand Pawnee, and the Pawnee Republican Village, is about twenty miles. The last is situated upon what is called the Loup Fork of the Platte river, and is about the same in size, as that of the Grand Pawnees. The different portions of the tribe who live upon this river, were formerly united. In the course of time, however, as their numbers increased, the difficulty of obtaining timber for fuel and building, also increased, until at last they divided into four distinct bands, each under a separate chief. The first seated itself upon the Republican Fork of the Platte, and is known by the name of the Grand Pawnee tribe. The other three located themselves upon the Loup Fork of the same river, and are distinguished by the names of the Republican Pawnees, the Tappaye Pawnees, and the Pawnee Loups. They are altogether distinct from the Pawnee Picks, and speak not the same tongue. During our stay among the Grand Pawnees, we found a Pawnee Pick residing among them, but his language was unintelligible to the whole nation, with the exception of one Indian, who had resided among his people. Our journey now lay across the prairie. An advance guard of about twenty Pawnees took the lead, conducting a number of loaded mules. Sometimes they were only ten or fifteen rods ahead, and then would push forward until we nearly lost sight of them. Behind us straggled our little band of Otoes; all on foot, except the wife of the Iotan chief. She had contrived by her winning arts, to soften the flinty nature of the old iron-sided soldier who drove one of the wagons, so as to get a seat upon a pile of bear-skins, composing our bedding. Here she exerted herself, to maintain her hold in the good will of the veteran Jehu, by narrating to him by gestures, an account of her passage over the Platte. The soldier listened to her patiently, and occasionally condescended to smile, when by her gesticulation, the story appeared to warrant it the most. At length one of his comrades rode up and asked: “What are you and the wife of Iotan laughing at, Mack?” “Curse me if I know,” retorted the other. “The squaw keeps up such a _bloody_ cackling, I suppose there must be some joke, and so I laughed.”