Our next camp was on the open prairie east of Divide Mountain, a triangular peak of the Rockies, where two great watersheds meet—the Hudson Bay Divide, a smooth ridge running east and west, and the Rocky Mountain chain extending north and south. That evening our women had time to prepare the meat for our journey, boiling the boss-ribs in a kettle; the rest was cut into strips and stretched on poles to dry over a fire. In the meantime with Little Creek I went to the camp of a widow named Katoya. The bodies of her husband and children were on a hill near her home. The lonely old woman welcomed us to her lodge and was glad to tell about the past. In our talk with her she said: “How happy we used to be at this time of year, the beginning of summer, when our hunters came home with plenty of meat. Then I said to my husband: ‘Invite now our friends; this night we shall have a feast.’ “Then he would ask some of the old people in for a smoke. Near the time of the first big snow in the autumn, we hastened to move away from the mountains and camp on the prairie. We went down a river, stopping to camp at our favorite camp-grounds and waiting for buffalo to come near. We were careful to choose the best place for our long winter camp. In those days we were happy. There were no white men and we wandered where we pleased. The buffalo were plentiful; the antelope of the prairies were fat and made good eating. “After my husband killed some buffalo, we brought in the hides. I tanned the skins, stretching them on the ground to dry in the sun; I oiled them with the brains and liver and made them soft by working them. Some of the skins I used for making clothes, and others for parfleches and berry-bags. After I had finished tanning our robes for winter, I had nothing to worry about. My husband and children had plenty to eat; they all slept warm on the coldest nights.” Then we left the old woman and returned to our own camp. Instead of taking time to pitch our tepees, the women made an ingenious shelter by stretching a canvas sheet over a wagon tongue for a ridge pole and fastened it to the ground on both sides. I made my bed outside, on the grassy bank of a small stream, where the night wind blew fresh from the mountains, bearing the fragrance of pine forests and flowery meadows. That night we sat by our camp-fire and talked about ghosts. Because of the near-by graves on the hill, the Indians thought that spirits were near. Onesta said: