On the first of October, while the savages lingered in camp about the banks of the Yellowstone River, apparently fearing, yet almost inviting attack by their near vicinity to the soldiers, a large Mackinaw, or flat-boat, was seen coming down the river. From their hiding-places in the rocks and bushes, they watched its progress with the stealthy ferocity of the tiger waiting for his prey. At sundown the unsuspecting travelers pushed their boat toward the shore, and landed for the purpose of making a fire and camping for the night. The party consisted of about twenty persons, men, women, and children. Suspecting no danger, they left their arms in the boat. With a simultaneous yell, the savages dashed down upon them, dealing death and destruction in rapid strokes. The defenseless emigrants made an attempt to rush to the boat for arms, but were cut off, and their bleeding bodies dashed into the river as fast as they were slain. Then followed the torture of the women and children. Horrible thought! from which all will turn with sickened soul, and shuddering, cry to Heaven, “How long, O Lord! how long shall such inhuman atrocities go unpunished?” Not a soul was left alive when that black day’s work was done; and the unconscious river bore away a warm tide of human blood, and sinking human forms. When the warriors returned to camp, they brought their frightful trophies of blood-stained clothes and ghastly scalps. My heart-sick eyes beheld the dreadful fruits of carnage; and, among the rest, I saw a woman’s scalp, with heavy chestnut hair, a golden brown, and four feet in length, which had been secured for its beauty. The tempting treasure lost the poor girl her life, which might have been spared; but her glorious locks were needed to hang on the chief’s belt. Nearly all the flat-boats that passed down the Yellowstone River to the Missouri, from the mining regions, during that season, were attacked, and in some instances one or more of the occupants killed. The approach of this boat was known, and the Indians had ample time to plan their attack so that not a soul should escape. That night the whole camp of braves assembled to celebrate the fearful scalp dance; and from the door of my tent I witnessed the savage spectacle, for I was ill, and, to my great relief, was not forced to join in the horrid ceremony. A number of squaws occupied the center of the ring they formed, and the pitiless wretches held up the fresh scalps that day reaped in the harvest of death. Around them circled the frantic braves, flourishing torches, and brandishing weapons, with the most ferocious barks and yells, and wild distortions of countenance. Some uttered boasts of bravery and prowess, and others lost their own identity in mocking their dying victims in their agony. Leaping first on one foot, then on the other, accompanying every movement with wild whoops of excitement, they presented a scene never to be forgotten.