the want of a dashing leader on the part of the Crees,
Saved the Blackfeet from total destruction, for nothing could have helped
them had their enemies charged home; but as soon as the priest had
reached the open which he did when he saw how matters stood-he called
loudly to the Blackfeet not to run, but to stand and return the fire of
their attackers. This timely advice checked the onslaught of the Crees,
who were in numbers nmore than sufficient to make an end of the Blackfeet
party in a few minutes. Mean time, the Blackfeet Women delved busily in
the earth with knife and finger, while the men fired at random into the
darkness. The lighted, semi-transparent tent of the chief had given a
mark for the guns of the Crees; but that was quickly overturned, riddled'
with balls and although the Crees continued to fire without intermission,
their shots generally went high. Sometimes the Crees would charge boldly
up to within a few feet of their enemies, then fire and rush back again,
yelling all the time, and taunting their enemies. The pere spent the
night in attending to the wounded Blackfeet. When day dawned the Crees
drew off to count their losses; but it was afterwards ascertained that
eighteen of their braves had been killed or wounded, and of the small
party of Blackfeet twenty had fallen--but who cared? Both sides kept
their scalps, and that was every thing.

This battle served not a little to increase the reputation in which the
missionary was held as a "great medicine-man." The Blackfeet ascribed to
his "medicine" what was really due to his pluck; and the Crees, when they
learnt that he had been with their enemies during the fight, at once
found in that fact a satisfactory explanation for the want of courage
they had displayed.

But it is time to quit the Mountain House, for winter has run on into
mid-December, and 1500 miles have yet to be travelled, but not travelled
towards the South. The most trusty guide, Piscan Munro, was away on the
plains; and as day after day passed by, making the snow a little deeper
and the cold a little colder, it was evident that the passage of the 400
miles intervening between the Mountain House and the nearest American
Fort had become almost an impossibility.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

Eastward--A beautiful Light.

On the 12th of December I said "Good-bye" to my friends at the Mountain
House, and, crossing the now ice-bound torrent of the Saskatchewan,
turned my steps, for the fi