that time when women began to wear big dresses and hooped skirts. I had never myself seen such dresses until then. They didn't wear them when I was a boy. The Indians were starting up the sidewalk through the crowd, in a sort of single file as they generally do, and three fine women came along wearing those big dresses and grand bonnets on their heads. Of course the women didn't realize how strange they appeared to us, but they were interested in the Indians and stopped to look at the Chiefs who wore blankets and big feathers. The Indians were also interested in the women, and they stopped in front of the ladies, who wore skirts almost big enough for tents, and strange feathers in their bonnets. For a minute both parties looked at each other's toggery. "The Indians were astonished to see the women so big around and wearing such gorgeous things on their heads. Of course the ladies quickly looked the Indians all over at a glance, just as they would at any curious thing in a show, and as they have a right to, and they especially looked at the feathers on the Indians' heads. At the same time the Chiefs, who were equally interested in the ladies' dresses, almost surrounded the women, before they realized the situation. You know that an Indian feels that it is proper to examine carefully anything that interests him. The Indians do that when they come into our cabins, in fact, it is their custom, so they proceeded at once to examine the ladies' wardrobe very carefully, before the ladies realized that they themselves were also objects of interest; but the Indians did not go very far in their investigation, for the women gave a yell loud enough for any Sioux and broke into a run. Some of the white people's fashions seem to be as ridiculous to the wild Indian as theirs are to you, and may be more so, for you see pictures of other people, and the Indians do not." "That's all right, Tom," said Mr. Warne, "fashion is sometimes only a freak." An old fellow with a big red mustache, whose name I failed to obtain, but who was addressed as Conk, standing somewhat in the background, overheard Tom's story. At its conclusion, he broke in with a remark--"Say, Tom, don't you remember about that Assiniboine Wi-jun-jun, the son of the Chief, who went to Washington?" "Yes, of course I do," was the reply, "but let's have it." We all called for the story, and as nearly as can be given from memoranda that I took at the time, his talk ran like this: "I ain't much on telling stories," (said the trapper) "but some of these young Indian bucks are about as much dandies as any of the white folks. You know Major Sanford was the Indian Agent for the Assiniboine tribe, and as a lot of chiefs from other tribes were going down the Missouri to go to see the President in Washington, he went for Wi-jun-jun, because he was tall and wore more feathers and put on more d--d style with his people than any other Injun on the river." "Don't swear, Conk," interjected Tom.