ful beasts has got into the shed among the
harness, and till he chooses to move nothing can be done. Naturally I
want to see him.

"You'll have to be as quiet as a mouse," you say, guiding me round on
tiptoe. "Mr. Humphrey says that he has a store of acrid fluid that
stinks like rotten eggs, and if he's disturbed he lets you know it. It's
weeks and months before any place is free from the smell."

So we peep cautiously and see an animal about the size of a large cat,
with bright black and white markings, lying harmlessly on a pile of
harness. It has no sting, no formidable claws or beak, and yet it is
able to keep any number of men from disturbing it while it chooses to
lie on their possessions. No god could receive more respect from his
believers. It is after tea-time when you, creeping to report, tell us
the good news that at last Mr. Skunk has gone away!

A day or two later Mr. Humphrey says he will take us to see an Indian
reserve, as he thinks we ought not to leave the country without seeing
one.

You know the Indians are now looked after by the Government. There are
certain pieces of land kept for them, and no one else may live on them.
As the white men have spread over the land, and used it for corn and
cattle, the Indians have been driven farther back, and find more
difficulty in getting a living, so now Government agents are appointed
to manage these reserves; they know all the Indians in their charge, and
deal out to them certain amounts of stores and look after them.

The settlement we are to visit is at Battle River, about forty miles
south of Edmonton. The day chosen is the one when the Indians come in
from the country to get their rations. They are a shabby-looking crowd
as they gather up near the lumber houses where the agent lives and where
the stores are kept.

These are men and women of the tribe of the Crees, a very quiet,
peaceful tribe, not troublesome, like the Blood Indians. If you imagined
we should see them with feathers sticking out round their heads and
fringes of scalps on their leggings you will be terribly disappointed.
All these men are in European clothes, with round black felt hats,
soiled coats, and blue overalls for trousers. The only thing Indian
about them are their moccasins, the soft leather foot-covering they wear
instead of boots. They have broad faces, lanky hair, dark reddish skins,
and rather a sullen expression mostly, and look dirty and untidy, like
old tramps. The sq