No sooner had the chief signified by his movements his intention that the party should set out, than the dark ring round us was broken, and the whole mass of Indians flooded the prairie—pouring in the direction of their village. It was a scene of vast confusion. The horses which had been cast loose by their owners, careered wildly around the crowd. The mounted horsemen dashed about with a mad fury almost equal to that of the masterless beasts. If any thing could give to an inexperienced person an idea of a field of battle, where man and horse are alike urged on by a reckless disregard of life, it is a scene like this. There was a striking contrast between the conduct of the older and more influential chiefs, and that of the younger warriors. The first rode gravely by the side of the party. There was something stern, and even savage, in the fixed repose of their painted faces. Every forehead was wrinkled with the thousand lines that seam an Indian brow; and, but for the tell-tale eyes which glittered in their deep-sunk sockets with a startling brilliancy, you would not have known that boiling blood, and hearts which could nourish passions like fire, were beating in the bosoms of those iron warriors. These were the chiefs and older men of the tribe; the young men rode at a distance. There was nothing to restrain _them_; they took no part in the councils. Their chiefs had ordered them to receive the party as friends, and they had obeyed their orders. They knew that a treaty of peace was to be made with the whites. They knew that in future the axe and scalping knife were to lie idle, and that war was to be at an end. But they did _not_ know, that they were thus removing the only barrier which insured their own safety, and were forming the first link of the chain, which always has ended, and always will end in fetters to the free spirit of the Indian.