Slowly we moved out on the plains. Every day brought fresh scenes, and steadily I was becoming acquainted with these people. Maskepetoon always invited me to their councils, and seated beside him I listened to argument and oratory, and beheld genuine gesticulation, natural and true. Sometimes the Chief would ask me to tell about white men and how they conducted matters. I would respond with a short address on government and municipal organization, or at another time speak of civilization and some of its wonders, or give a talk on education, and Maskepetoon would say, "Listen to John. Although he is only a child in years he is a man in experience; he has seen far and wide, he has gone to school, he has listened for years to that wise man his father." Then at the closing up of these council gatherings Maskepetoon would give judgment on what had been said, either approving or condemning, and settle the matter in discussion in his own way, when the Council would break up for the time. Day after day we moved slowly out on the plains, the prairie openings growing larger. All this time strict guard was kept, and the camp travelled, when the country would permit of it, in several parallel lines of march. At night scouts were sent out in every direction, and all of the horses either tethered or hobbled up close within the circle of tents. On every hand were scenes which acted as stimulators in the exercise of care to most of the inhabitants of our moving village. Here had been a fight. Yonder some one would point out where many had been killed. "This is where the camp was when we brought in so many scalps and horses;" and as I listened to these people I could in a measure begin to realize how exceedingly romantic their lives had been, and how constantly the excitement of tribal war had followed them. One evening we were startled by the wail of a mother. Her eight-year-old son was missing. The camp was searched and the boy not found. For two nights and a day we remained in the one place and made diligent search; but as we were now in the fringings of the large herds of buffalo, and the whole country was tracked up, it was impossible to find any trace of the lad. One old conjurer drummed all night, and said that the boy was killed, locating the place of his death in a little valley near the line of our march the day the boy was missed. He was so particular in his description of the place and as to the manner in which the Blackfeet had waylaid the boy, that many thought the old conjurer was telling the truth, and quite a number went with the "Medicine Man" to the spot he had so vividly described. But while they found the spot just as he had indicated, there were no traces of the lost boy, nor yet any signs of the enemy. Needless to say, the party came back very much disgusted with their "false prophet."