CAMP OF THE BLOOD INDIANS After fording the St. Mary’s River, we crossed the international line into the Province of Alberta, a country of rolling prairies with black soil and luxuriant grass, stretching away in gentle slopes to the horizon. We saw many “fairy rings,” both large and small, made by a species of fungus. Onesta believed they were overgrown trails made years before by buffalo going in circles. But Little Creek who was more practical said they were the remains of old buffalo wallows. They are identical with the mushroom growths common in the fields of our Eastern States, where they are popularly known as “fairy rings” or “fairy dances.” On the journey, our Indian women were always on the lookout for herbs and plants. They gathered them wherever we went and dried them in the sun or by the camp-fire at night. Some were used for seasoning meats and stews, others for hair tonic, sore throat and pain in the stomach. We made a special collection for the medicine man, Brings-Down-the-Sun, whom we were going to visit—certain herbs he was known to use in doctoring the sick. The women also kept adding to my botanical collection, [4] showing me rare plants and telling their Indian names and uses. We made a collection of the perfumes they used—braids of sweet grass, dried blossoms of dog fennel and meadow rue, balsam fir, red cedar, punk from the cottonwood tree, buds from the balsam poplar, beaver musk and ringbone of a horse. At last we saw the white lodges of the Bloods in the valley of Belly River. I rode in advance of our party and was the first to enter their camp. It was a hot day, and many of the lodges had their doors open and the sides raised for ventilation. Soon a horseman came to meet me. He wore a headdress of curving horns and a deerskin suit covered with colored beads and ermine tails. He addressed me in the sign language, raising his right hand and moving it to and fro to say: “Who are you and from whence do you come?” I signed back: “A friend, I travel with a party of South Piegans.” To express this, I clasped my hands as though shaking hands; then pointed to the rest of my party and made the sign for Piegan by closing my right hand, holding it to the lower part of my right cheek and moving it in a small circle. The Blood grunted and nodded that he understood, looking at me all the while with the steady gaze and keen observation of an Indian. He took in every detail of myself and my horse. Meanwhile the rest of our party came up. After a short parley with the Blood, he led us through the camp to the lodge of One Spot and his wife Snake Woman, who were relatives of Little Creek.