The path leading to the Pawnee villages runs in a direction a little south of west from the cantonment, and lies across a tract of high and barren prairie for the first ten miles. At this distance it crosses the Papillon, or Butterfly creek, a small stream discharging into the Missouri three miles above the confluence of the Platte. Lieutenant Graham and Mr. J. Dougherty accompanied us about five miles on our way; we were also met by Lieutenant Talcott from Camp Missouri, who crossed the bluffs on foot, to take leave of us. Much delay was occasioned, as we passed along, by the derangement of the packs, the obstinacy of the mules, and the want of dexterity and experience in our engagees; we however arrived early in the afternoon at the Papillon, where we encamped. The Papillon, although it traverses a considerable extent of country, was at this time but a trifling stream. Its channel is narrow, the banks steep, and {116} like many other streams which have their whole course in these arid plains, it is nearly destitute of water, except in rainy seasons.[74] [74] For Papillon Creek, see Bradbury's _Travels_, in our volume v, note 40.—ED. During the night some rain fell, but as we were furnished with three tents, sufficiently large to shelter all our party, we experienced little inconvenience from the storm. Our baggage was also effectually protected, being laid in heaps, and covered with bear-skins; which were also spread over it when placed upon the pack-horses, during our march by day. We had each two small blankets, which were carried upon our horses, one being placed under the saddle, and the other upon it. These, with the addition, in some instances, of a great coat, or a blanket-capot, and a valise or a pair of holsters, to supply the place of a pillow, were our only articles of bedding. On morning of the 7th, a new disposition was made, in relation to the pack-horses, a man being appointed to attend particularly to each. We breakfasted, and recommenced our journey at an early hour, and moving forward at an easy pace, arrived about ten o'clock at the Elk-horn,[75] a considerable river, tributary to the Platte. On the preceding evening, we had been joined at our camp by a party of three or four Frenchmen, on their way to a hunting camp of the Omawhaws to trade. We purchased of them two small brass kettles, to complete our supply of camp furniture. One of these men had been of Pratte and Vasquez's party, at the time of the late attack, and had received, in that affair, a wound in the back from a rifle ball, which was yet unhealed. In the morning they accompanied us to the Elk-horn, where the wounded Frenchman was one of the first to strip and plunge into the river. Surprising accounts are given of the hardihood, and patience under suffering, manifested by the Indians; but we have rarely seen one of them {117} exhibit a more striking instance of insensibility to pain, than this Frenchman. [75] See preceding volume, note 182.—ED.