e came down from the mountain and drove to
the Piegan Agency. The heavy wagon came directly to camp, of course.
There is nothing remarkable to be seen at the agency--just a number of
ordinary buildings, a few huts, and Indians standing around the door of
a store that resembles a post trader's. Every Indian had on a blanket,
although Major Stokes said there were several among them who had been to
the Carlisle School.

Along the road before we reached the agency, and for some distance after
we had left it, we passed a number of little one-room log huts occupied
by Indians, often with two squaws and large families of children; and at
some of these we saw wretched attempts at gardening. Those Indians are
provided with plows, spades, and all sorts of implements necessary for
the making of proper gardens, and they are given grain and seeds to
plant, but seldom are any of these things made use of. An Indian scorns
work of any kind--that is only for squaws. The squaws will scratch up a
bit of ground with sticks, put a little seed in, and then leave it for
the sun and rain to do with as it sees fit. No more attention will be
paid to it, and half the time the seed is not covered.

One old chief raised some wheat one year--I presume his squaws did all
the work--and he gathered several sackfuls, which was made into flour at
the agency mill. The chief was very proud. But when the next quarterly
issue came around, his ration of flour was lessened just the amount his
wheat had made, which decided all future farming for him! Why should he,
a chief, trouble himself about learning to farm and then gain nothing
in the end! There is a fine threshing machine at the agency, but the
Indians will have nothing whatever to do with it. They cannot understand
its workings and call it the "Devil Machine."

As we were nearing the Indian village across the creek from us, we came
to a most revolting spectacle. Two or three Indians had just killed an
ox, and were slashing and cutting off pieces of the almost quivering
flesh, in a way that left little pools of blood in places on the side.
There were two squaws with them, squatted on the ground by the dead
animal, and those hideous, fiendish creatures were scooping up the
warm blood with their hands and greedily drinking it! Can one imagine
anything more horrible? We stopped only a second, but the scene was too
repulsive to be forgotten. It makes me shiver even now when I think
of the flashing of those