After a short time she rose from the ground, and wrapping her robe round her, walked slowly towards the village. It was not until she was completely lost to our sight, that we left our sheltering place, and followed in the direction which she had taken. We had heard the Indian dirge sung before by different females, of the tribe, but as we considered them mere pieces of formality, we had passed by, without heeding them. But in this lonely being, there was an air of deep desolation, as she lay upon the grave, and a hopeless, despairing tone, in her low, melodious voice, that laid bare the recesses of a withered heart. We were so much interested in her, that we had accurately noted her appearance, and now hurried towards our lodge, with the intention of finding out her history from our interpreter—a matter of no great difficulty, as the history of every individual of the village is known to all. We found the half-breed interpreter sitting in front of the fire, wrapped in his blanket-coat, with his elbow resting upon his knee, and his hand supporting his chin. There was an air of iron gravity and even sternness in his deep-marked features that denoted a man not prone to yield to womanish emotion. We walked up to him, and by means of a Frenchman, (for he spoke no English) inquired the history of the girl—at the same time narrating the scene in the prairie. If it had been in the nature of his face to wear a more scornful expression than it usually did, the smile of contempt which passed over his weather-beaten features, as we related our story, would have added to it. For a moment, he seemed surprised—then added, that she was a squaw, who resided in the adjoining lodge, and but a short time before, he had heard her say to her mother, that as she had nothing else to do, she believed she would go and take a _bawl_ over her dead brother’s grave. He had been killed five years before. Here was a waste of sympathy. We were vexed that we had suffered our feelings to be enlisted in the mock misery of this girl, who was merely performing a customary mummery. There was an expression of enjoyment in the keen eye of the half-breed, as he watched the disappointed expression of our faces. A grim smile played over his reddish-brown face, and I believe if he had ever been guilty of such an action, he would have indulged in a loud explosion of merriment. At that moment, the broad voice of our black cook, announced that the supper was ready. Discarding both the girl, and her griefs, from our minds, we seated ourselves upon the floor, preparatory to commencing the almost hopeless task, of masticating a supper of dried buffalo’s flesh, which had been boiled for only two hours. When we had finished, it was late in the evening—the Indians had ceased moving through the lodge, and wrapping themselves in their shaggy robes, had composed their forms upon the clay floor, for slumber.