"And just a little while ago I heard of Joe Kipp's death, too. His mother died some years earlier. So that is some Mandan history which I presume even our Mandan friend here never has heard before--about the last of the Mandans, who came down, broken and helpless, even into our own time." "Don't!" suddenly said Rob. "Please don't! It makes me sad." They fell silent as presently each found his way to his blankets. CHAPTER XVII AT THE YELLOWSTONE The motor-car journey of the party had not much of eventfulness, being practically, most of the way, through a farm or range country where roads of least passable sort led them in the general northwesterly direction which they desired to take. All three of the young explorers could drive, so they took turns occasionally, while the editor sat in the back seat and conversed with Uncle Dick. Beyond a few grouse and rabbits, with a half dozen coyotes, they saw no game except wild fowl on the sloughs. The cabins and tepees on the Fort Berthold Indian Reservation afforded them a change of scene, and they were delighted to find three of the native Mandan earth lodges, one nearly fifty feet in diameter. They learned that the remnants of the Mandan tribe, few in number and comprising few, if any, pure blood, were located with reservation here, and were clinging to their tribal customs the best they could. "Well, here's what Patrick Gass says about the old Mandan huts and how they were built--and he was a carpenter and so ought to know." John was always ready with his quotations: