Here their
course turned sharply west toward the Powder River country, past the
southern bounds of the Yellowstone. For three weeks they saw no sign
of human existence. Deer and antelope bounded over the parched alkali
uplands. Prairie dogs perched on top of their earth mounds, to watch
the lonely riders pass; and all night the far howl of grayish forms on
the offing of the starlit prairie told of prowling coyotes. On the
11th of August the brothers camped on the Powder Hills. Mounting to
the crest of a cliff, they scanned far and wide for signs of the
Indians whom the Mandans knew. The valleys were desolate. Kindling a
signal-fire to attract any tribes that might be roaming, they built a
hut and waited. A month passed. There was no answering signal. One
of the Mandan guides took himself off in fright. On the fifth week a
thin line of smoke rose against the distant sky. The remaining Mandans
went to reconnoitre and found a camp of Beaux Hommes, or Crows, who
received the French well. Obtaining fresh guides from the Crows and
dismissing the Mandans, the brothers again headed westward. The Crows
guided them to the Horse Indians, who in turn took the French to their
next western neighbors, the Bows. The Bows were preparing to war on
the Snakes, a mountain tribe to the west. Tepees dotted the valley.
Women were pounding the buffalo meat into pemmican for the raiders.
The young braves spent the night with war-song and war-dance, to work
themselves into a frenzy of bravado.
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