After this I strolled out with one of my companions. It was so late that there were few of the Indians stirring. Here and there, we encountered individuals sitting upon the high bank, gazing upon the gliding waters of the Platte. It seemed as if they were engaged in a species of devotion, for they did not heed our approach, but sat humming a low, a very low muttered song. We passed them, and continued our course along the high bluff, looking down upon the Platte, which was dimly seen, reflecting the stars that twinkled upon its restless water. The prairie insects were piping their evening calls, and the creaking of the thousand creatures, who were hid in its long matted herbage, told that they were conscious their hour of song and revelry had come. Occasionally we heard the long howl of a wolf, softened by the distance, and now and then some serenading owl, would raise his voice from the dark fringe of trees, which drooped over the opposite bank of the river, and send forth a long quavering whoop. We strolled along the bank for half a mile, glad to be free from the well-meant though tedious attentions of our hosts. At length, however, we turned for the purpose of retracing our steps, when our attention was attracted by a low, mournful cry, from the midst of a number of small mounds, at a short distance, the burial ground of the village. We approached the spot so cautiously, as not to disturb the person who was stationed there. Upon the top of one of the graves, a large mound covered with grass, was lying an Indian girl. Her buffalo robe had escaped from her shoulders, and her long dishevelled black hair, was mingled with the grass of the prairie. Her bosom was resting upon the sod, and her arms extended, as if embracing the form of the being who was mouldering beneath. Believing that she was some female belonging to the tribe, singing a dirge over the grave of some departed friend, we listened attentively to her song. At one moment, it would rise in the air with a plaintive sound, as if she was dwelling with mournful tenderness, upon the virtues of the deceased. At times, she would seem to speak of the feelings of his heart; at others, the note would seem to be one of war, of battle; and then her song would burst from her, with the startling energy of a person, who was in the midst of the scene itself, and was acting over the feats of the silent dead. At these moments, she raised her head, and her whole frame seemed swelling with the inspiration of her theme; but in the very midst of this energetic burst of enthusiasm, the chord of some more mournful recollection would be touched, and the song would sink from its high, and ardent tone, to a note of wo, so despairing, that it appeared as if the sluices of her heart were opened, and the deep-hidden stream of her affection, was flowing out in the mournful melody.