ther, each
watching for the life of his adversary, while every fibre of mental and
muscular power were roused to activity. Neither could leave his covert
without certain death, and one or the other must inevitably fall.

For an hour or two this dreadful conflict continued. Gradually the
superiority of the white man, and the vast advantage which the rifle gave,
began to be manifest. The Indians were slowly driven back, from tree to
rock, from rock to tree. Many of their warriors had fallen in death. The
ground was crimsoned with their blood. The disheartened Indians began to
waver, then to retreat; and then as the trappers made a simultaneous
charge, and the rifle bullets whistled around them, to run in complete
rout, scattering in all directions. It was in vain to attempt any pursuit.
The women and children of the Blackfeet village were on an eminence, about
a mile from their homes, awaiting the issue of the conflict. They also
instantly disappeared, seeking refuge no one knew where.

In this battle a large number of the Indians were killed or wounded, we
know not how many. But three of the trappers were killed, though many
others received wounds more or less severe. The Indian village was located
on very fine camping-ground. They left nothing behind them. An Indian
woman needs no Saratoga trunk for her wardrobe. Their comfortable wigwams
were left standing. Here Fontenelle allowed his party to rest for several
days. The dead were to be buried, the wounded to be nursed, damages to be
repaired, and a new supply of provisions to be obtained. Free from all
fear of molestation, the trappers explored the region for miles around,
and were very successful in taking beavers.

It is estimated that the various parties of trappers, then wandering among
the mountains, numbered at least six hundred men. While our trappers were
thus encamped, elated with their victory over the Indians, and still more
exultant over their daily success in trapping and hunting, one day an
express rode into the camp, and informed them that the rendezvous was to
be held, that year, upon the Mud river, a small stream flowing
circuitously from the south into Green river. The party, having a large
stock of beaver on hand, set out to cross the main ridge of the Rocky
mountains, to dispose of their furs at the rendezvous. It required a
journey of eight days. As the trapping party, nearly a hundred in number,
all mounted on gayly caparisoned steeds, and leadin