Then the venerable figure of the patriarch chieftain came from one of the lodges. With hand shading his eyes, he stood under a cottonwood tree and gazed intently at our outfit. He recognized his nephew, Onesta, and welcomed us saying: “My children, I am glad in my heart that you have come to visit my camp.” I went closer and saw that he was an old man, with long gray hair falling in waves over his shoulders. He had high cheek bones, and clean-cut Indian features. In his face were deep lines, as though he were burdened with care and responsibility. He wore a bright-colored blanket wrapped closely around him, a red band across his forehead and encircling his head. His tall figure was bent with age; but he had a keen and penetrating gaze, and the dignified bearing of a chief who was accustomed to command. He stood a moment without speaking, and then he said: “You may pitch your lodges close to mine if you wish. But the best place to camp is in the open meadow. Sometimes heavy winds come, which break the big trees. If you should be camped underneath in a storm, some of the branches might fall and do you harm. Take your horses to feed on the hills beyond the valley, where the grass is more nourishing. You will find a cold spring on the north side of the meadow with good water to drink.” Thus he spoke and disappeared into his tepee, while we made ready to camp, choosing a place among the big trees, near the camp of the old medicine man; and there we unloaded our wagons. Soon the women of the North Piegans, Bird, the wife of Brings-Down-the-Sun, with her daughter, Long Hair, and daughters-in-law, came bearing presents. It was always interesting to watch the exchange of presents by the women. On this occasion, Nitana received an old pot, a bag of dried beans, a big knife, and a copper kettle. She gave in return two blankets, two pairs of moccasins, and some mineral paints. Such articles, which might seem of little value to white men, were cherished by Indian women. That evening we had an invitation from Brings-Down-the-Sun to eat with him in his tepee. So at sunset, in company with Little Creek and Onesta, I walked along a well-worn trail that led among the cottonwoods to the camp of the North Piegans. Near the lodge of the chief, we came upon a charming picture of a happy and contented Indian family. A bright fire burned under the big trees, sending a shower of golden sparks into the air, lighting up the white lodges with their clusters of tapering poles and shining on the massive trunks and green foliage of the cottonwoods. Gathered round the fire were women and girls dressed in bright colors, busily at work, cooking, making moccasins and clothes; groups of children were at play—all were merry and light-hearted.