“The summer after that, a party of Indians came into Cutbank Valley, to this same meadow. They pitched their lodges near this old fir tree where we are now camped—the place where you saw the big bear. That night this same grizzly came into their camp and took all the food he wanted. The dogs attacked him; but he killed some and put the rest to flight. He was so big they were afraid to shoot. We call him the Medicine Grizzly. We believe he is the medicine man of the Gros Ventres. When he was killed near this old fir tree, he changed himself into a grizzly bear.” CHAPTER XIV INDIAN SUMMER October was fine that year, with days of warm sunshine and frosty nights—ideal for living in the open. Late in the month a party of Indians, both men and women, stopped at our ranch on their way to the mountains. Little Creek and my Indian sister were going; Yellow Bird, Onesta, and his wife Nitana; the sisters Katoyísa and Nínake; and they asked me to go along. We put two old mares in the heavy wagon, to carry blankets and camp equipment; they were the only horses to be found near the ranch. Yellow Bird drove the team with Katoyísa and I rode Kutenai, my saddle horse. Soon, one of the team became lame; and Yellow Bird went back for another horse. So I put Kutenai in the harness and mounted the driver’s seat beside the Indian girl. At first the going was good. The prairie was level and we had no trouble; but we were left far behind. Our wagon was heavy, the team slow and badly matched. Without a whip, I had to shout and swing my lariat to make the horses move along. Throughout the day we saw no big game, only jack rabbits and badgers and ground squirrels, chirping and standing straight up, like miniature prairie dogs. Near the mountains we came to rough traveling, up hill and down. In bad places, with no road to follow, there was danger of breaking the tongue, a wheel or an axle. We had to cross gullies and washouts and streams with high banks; to find our way round ravines, and through thickets of alder and quaking aspen. We did not talk much, but our silence was natural. Katoyísa only spoke when she felt like it. She was a quiet, self-contained girl, fearless and conscientious. She wanted to help her tribe in their struggle for survival; that they might learn to adapt themselves to the ways of the conquering white race. That day I felt as though I were in a dream—like a pioneer of early days, on my way to a new land with this Indian girl. But, alas! I was brought suddenly back to earth. We crossed the summit of a high ridge and overlooked a terrible hill—a steep descent to a lower level of the plain, stretching to the foot of the mountains. The air was marvelously clear, and fragrant with the scent of pine and cedar.