on Hell Gate River, “so named,” explains Ross, “from being frequented by war parties of roving Blackfeet.” While the brigade camped came a tinkle of dog bells over the snow, and eight Piegans appeared driving loaded dog sleds with provisions to trade in the Flathead country. Before Ross could stop them, his rascally Iroquois were out of the leather lodges with a whoop and flare of firearms and had stripped the poor Piegans naked, leaving not so much as a piece of fat on their sleighs. There was nothing for Ross to do but “pay treble the value of the trash” and invite the victims into his own lodge. As the Piegans were going off next day, he gave them a salute of honor from the brass gun, “_just to show them_,” he explains, “_that it makes a noise_.” Barely was this trouble past, when two Iroquois again deserted. After them on horseback rode Ross with old Pierre as lieutenant. “Partly by persuasion, and partly by force,” he relates, “we put them on horseback and brought them into camp before dark.” It was necessary to reach the buffalo plains and get the store of pemmican before the spring hunt. Already it was March, and Ross found himself in a narrow mountain cañon three hundred miles from any post, the trail forward blocked by snow twelve feet deep for twenty miles. No time for mutineers to plot. Daydawn to dark for a week, Ross sent his men forward to cut a way through the snow, the horses disappearing through the soft drifts altogether in their plunges, and the end of a week saw only three miles clear with a howling blizzard that filled up the trench as fast as the trappers could work. Ross kept his men too busy to think of turning back and sent forward a fresh relay of horses to stamp the way open. The end of another week saw eight miles clear, but storm kept the men idle in camp for a day, and that day worked the mischief with discipline. “John Grey, a turbulent Iroquois, came to my lodge as spokesman to inform me he and ten others had resolved to turn back. I asked him _why_? He said this delay would lose the spring hunt. Anyway, the Iroquois had not engaged to dig snow and make roads. I told him I was surprised to hear a good, quiet, honest fellow like he was utter such cowardly words. (God forgive me for the lie!) I said by going back they would loose the whole year’s hunt. A change in the weather any day now might allow us to begin hunting. It was dangerous for us to separate. John answered he was no slave to work in this way. I told him he was a freeman of good character and to be careful to keep his character good. (God forgive me. In my heart, I thought otherwise. I saw him in his true colors, a turbulent blackguard, a d---- rascal, a low trouble maker.) He said: ‘Fair words are all very well; but back I am going to go.’ I thought a moment. Then I said: ‘You are no stronger than other men. Stopped, you will be. I will stop you!’ He said he would like to see the man who could stop him. I said: ‘I can.’ Old