A few days subsequent to this Nathan announced his intention of going to the trading post and Indian village, inviting Lissa to accompany him. Accordingly, one bright morning they mounted their horses, and after a refreshing canter of several miles came in sight of the reservation. They overtook on the way a number of Indians, bestriding scrubby little mustangs, which they managed with rope reins tied to the under jaws of the ponies. At the post Nathan was greeted by a shout of “Ho, ho, ho, Cheiks-ta-ka-la-sha!” which Nathan interpreted as a greeting to the “white-man-chief” from the approaching brave. The lazy aboriginal then begged the privilege of sharing Nathan’s pony. He was weary and would ride. But Nathan declined to grant the request, telling him the pony was not strong enough to carry double. Several other Indians welcomed him in the same manner, each one asking about the _chuppet_ who accompanied him. Soon they were at the village, a collection of Indian huts covering quite an area of ground, built of sod or mud and most of them circular in form, with but two openings, one at the top for the escape of smoke, and a low passageway through which one must stoop to enter. At this season of the year the huts were but little occupied, being infested with fleas, and small tents, made of poles covered by blankets or bison skin, afforded more inviting shelter from sun and rain. Little nude children ran about here and there, or ducked in the waters of the river, like so many young goslings. Stalwart Indian-braves sauntered to and fro lazily about the wigwams or squatted on the ground under cover of their tents. The Indian industries seemed to be confined to the women, who were laboriously employed roasting corn in holes in the ground or scraping and rubbing the bison skins which had been recently brought in from the plains; for the braves were just home from their summer hunt, and preparations were going forward for their great green-corn festival. In vain our Eastern woman looked for the beautiful Indian maiden of poesy and song. She concluded no poet could find inspiration to write of these dirty humans, with unpleasant faces and tangled locks. Presently they rode to the tent of the chief of the tribe, who invited them to dismount and enter. As Lissa followed Nathan into the small tent she confessed to an instinctive desire to flee in the opposite direction, for as she sat down upon the cushion her host placed for her, six Indian warriors entered and squatted down in a circle around her husband and herself. A timid look at Nathan, however, met assurance, and she tried to banish fear, but the thought of the white man flayed on the banks of the river would force itself upon her, and she found herself looking at their hands with a feeling of horror, which with an effort she sought to keep from appearing in her face.