After travelling a few hours over the prairie, we passed a single tree. It stood like a solitary sentinel, to guard the waters of a small spring, which gushed out at its foot; the source of the only brook, which had crossed our path, during the whole route. The tree was an aged one; short, and sturdy. If aught might be judged from its gnarled and fantastically twisted limbs, it had maintained its station for centuries, contending against the fierce storms and tornados, which had swept the prairie. We felt a kind of companionship with this “veteran of the storms;” and as if by common consent, the party, both Indians and whites, came to a halt, to rest under its branches, and drink of the water which gurgled along at its roots. In a quarter of an hour we again pushed forward. After an hour more of laborious travel, through long waving grass, we descried large droves of horses, with uplifted heads and erect manes, gazing at us from the different eminences. We perceived also the flying forms of mounted Indians, in the distance, and groups of others clad in flowing robes, and standing like statues upon the heights. This showed us that the town was not distant, and that its warriors were on the watch for our coming. Intervening hills, however, still shut it out from our sight. As we proceeded, the groups disappeared one after another, and as we mounted the eminences where they had stood, we could perceive them, dashing forward, until they sank behind the brow of a high ridge, which still hid the town. In half an hour, we ascended this ridge, and halted upon its top. A large plain, of about two miles in extent, lay at its foot. It was bounded by the waters of the Loup Fork, glittering through the verdant foliage which fringed its borders. On the opposite side of the river, was a high bluff, on which was situated the dingy lodges of the Republican village.