The Mandans, says Catlin, raise a great deal of corn; but sometimes a most disastrous drought visits the land, destructive to their promised harvest. Such was the case when I arrived at the Mandan village, on the steamboat Yellow Stone. Rain had not fallen for many a day, and the dear little girls and ugly old squaws, altogether, (all of whom had fields of corn,) were groaning and crying to their lords, and imploring them to intercede for rain, that their little patches, which were now turning pale and yellow, might not be withered, and they be deprived of the customary annual festivity, and the joyful occasion of the “roasting ears,” and the “green corn dance.” The chiefs and doctors sympathized with the distress of the women, and recommended patience. Great deliberation, they said, was necessary in these cases; and though they resolved on making the attempt to produce rain for the benefit of the corn; yet they very wisely resolved that to begin too soon might ensure their entire defeat in the endeavor: and that the longer they put it off, the more certain they would be of ultimate success. So, after a few days of further delay, when the importunities of the women had become clamorous, and even mournful, and almost insupportable, the medicine-men assembled in the council-house, with all their mystery apparatus about them--with an abundance of wild sage, and other aromatic herbs, with a fire prepared to burn them, that their savory odors might be sent forth to the Great Spirit. The lodge was closed to all the villagers, except some ten or fifteen young men, who were willing to hazard the dreadful alternative of making it rain, or suffer the everlasting disgrace of having made a fruitless essay. They, only, were allowed as witnesses to the _hocus focus_ and _conjurations_ devised by the doctors inside of the medicine lodge; and they were called up by lot, each one in his turn, to spend a day upon the top of the lodge, to test the potency of his medicine; or, in other words, to see how far his voice might be heard and obeyed amongst the clouds of the heavens; whilst the doctors were burning incense in the wigwam below, and with their songs and prayers to the Great Spirit for success, were sending forth grateful fumes and odors to Him “who lives in the sun and commands the thunders of Heaven.” Wah-kee, (the shield,) was the first who ascended the wigwam at sun rise; and he stood all day, and looked foolish, as he was counting over and over his string of mystery-beads--the whole village were assembled around him, and praying for his success. Not a cloud appeared--the day was calm and hot; and at the setting of the sun, he descended from the lodge and went home--“his medicine was not good,” nor can he ever be a medicineman.