e Artist
Catlin who the next year, in the Mandan towns, listened to the hero
tales of Mah-to-toh-pa. He was a great man at painting Indians, this
Artist Catlin.

Wijunjon was somewhat confused by so many sounds and sights, but he
made a fine figure of a chief--in his mountain-goat skin leggins and
shirt, decorated with porcupine quills, and with scalp locks from his
enemies; his long plaited hair, which reached to the ground; his war
bonnet of eagles' plumes; his buffalo-hide robe, painted with the
battles of his career; his beautiful moccasins; and his quiver and bow
and bull-neck shield.

Having had his portrait painted, he continued on the long trail, of two
thousand more miles by water and by stage, to Washington. And as every
mile of it was amidst still more lodges of the white man, he soon saw
that all the willow sticks of the Missouri River could not have counted
their numbers.

This winter Wijunjon and his companions had a wonderful time among the
white men. The Pigeon's-egg Head was the foremost. He was the first
to shake the hand of the Great White Father. He declined nothing. The
sights of Washington, Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York--he inspected
them all. He scarcely rested, night or day. He learned so much that
when, in the spring of 1832, he turned homeward, he was filled to
bursting.

At St. Louis the first "through" steamboat, the _Yellowstone_, was
waiting to ascend to Fort Union and the Assiniboin country. Artist
Catlin was aboard. This was to be his first trip, also.

The steamboat _Yellowstone_ made a huge sensation, as it ploughed the
thick muddy current of the Missouri, frightening the Indians and
buffalo along the shores.

It moved without sweeps--it nosed for the deepest channels--and the
Indians called it "Big-medicine-canoe-with-eyes." It spoke with its
guns, and belched much smoke--and they called it "Big Thunder-canoe."

But Wijunjon feared not at all. He was used to thunder-canoes, now;
and he had seen many great sights, back there in the villages of the
white men. In fact, he was a sight, himself, for on the way up he had
changed his clothes, that his people might know hint for a wide
traveler.

Gone were his fringed and quilled goat-skin leggins and shirt; gone his
war bonnet and painted robe and handsome moccasins, his bow and quiver
and shield.

Instead, he wore a badly fitting colonel's uniform, of the United
States Army, given to him by the Great White Fathe