The next morning about ten o’clock, we set off for the village of the Tappage Pawnees, situated upon the Loup fork of the Platte, about eleven miles farther up the river. As we left the town, a crowd of men, women and children followed us, in the hope of obtaining presents. The chief too, escorted us out. He was a princely man. His head was shorn, excepting the scalp-lock; his face was free from paint; a long string of wampum, the only ornament he ever wore, hung from his neck; a blue blanket covered one shoulder, leaving bare his high, prominent chest, and the sinewy arm which curbed the restless movement of his fretted horse. He had been used to the saddle from childhood, and now governed his impatient animal, with the calm controul of a practised rider. There is nothing upon which the Indians pride themselves, more than their horsemanship. Almost living in the saddle, they are as much at ease, when mounted, as when sitting upon the floor of their own lodge. Many a time, I have seen two or three village urchins, beset some unfortunate horse, while quietly dozing and ruminating, upon the prairie. After sundry coaxings and efforts, they would succeed in mounting upon his back, and then without saddle or bridle, and with a whoop and yell, that terrified the startled steed into a full gallop, they would scamper madly along, clinging to his mane, and to each other, with a tenacity which would have astonished any one but an Indian. After accompanying us about a mile, the chief returned, followed by a number of his warriors. The rest joined our band, and travelled in company, for the purpose of witnessing our reception by their rival village. Our pace was slow, being regulated by that of the oxen, who toiled painfully along in the rear. The prairie was beginning to show the effects of the autumn frost, and the grass wore a blighted, withered look. The sun shone red and lurid through the hazy atmosphere, denoting what at this season of the year, is called among the whites, Indian summer. Not a breeze rustled the dry grass, or rippled the swift, glassy waters of the Platte. Every thing was quiet, except the loud voice of the teamster, expostulating with his oxen; or an occasional crack, from the whip of Joseph, as he urged forward his mules.