As we left Yankton in the stage for Santee, where we were to stop a few days and wait for an up-river boat, an incident occurred which must have been novel to the girl from Bangor. The day was just breaking when the stage had made out its complement of passengers, except one. There were six men on the two seats before us, and Nina and I were behind. At a little tavern in the suburbs of the town, the ninth passenger was taken in. As he came out we could see that he was the worse for drinking. I at once shoved over to the middle of the seat, and let him in by my side. He turned out to be a burly French half-breed, or a Frenchman who had a Dakota family. We had gone but a little distance, when he said he was going to smoke. I objected to his smoking inside the stage. He begged the lady's pardon a thousand times, but said he must smoke. By this time he had hunted in his pockets, but did not find his pipe. "O mon pipe!" The stage-driver must turn around and go back--it cost $75. He worked himself and the rest of us into quite an excitement. By and by he said to me: "Do you know who I am?" I said I did not. He said, "I am Red Cloud, and I have killed a great many white men." "Ah," said I, "you are Red Cloud? I do not believe you can talk Dakota"--and immediately I commenced talking Dakota. He turned around and stared at me. "Who are you?" he said. From that moment he was my friend, and ever so good. It was now the month of May, but there were deep snow banks still in the ravines on the north side of the river. A terrible storm had swept over the country from the north-east about the middle of April. A hundred Indian ponies and forty or fifty head of cattle at the Santee agency had perished. This made spring work go heavily. I was interested in examining the building erected last summer for the girls' boarding-school. It should have been completed before the winter came on, according to the agreement. But now it is intended to have it ready for occupancy the first of September. When finished, it will accommodate twenty or twenty-four girls and also the lady teachers. On the Sabbath we spent there, I preached in the morning, and Pastor Artemas Ehnamane preached in the afternoon. The _Word Carrier_ tells a good story of this Santee pastor. In his younger days, Ehnamane was one of the best Dakota hunters. Tall and straight as an arrow, he was literally as swift as a deer. And he learned to use a gun with wonderful precision. Only a few years before this time, I was traveling with him, when, in the evening, he took his gun and went around a lake, and brought into camp twelve large ducks. He had shot three times. Well, in the fall of 1872 his church gave him a vacation of six weeks, and "he turned his footsteps to the wilds of the Running Water, where his heart grew young, and his rifle cracked the death-knell of the deer and antelope.