dian character, it is to be sought for in friendships such as
this, which are quite common among many of the prairie tribes.

Slowly, hour after hour, that weary afternoon dragged away. I lay in
Reynal's lodge, overcome by the listless torpor that pervaded the
whole encampment. The day's work was finished, or if it were not, the
inhabitants had resolved not to finish it at all, and all were dozing
quietly within the shelter of the lodges. A profound lethargy, the very
spirit of indolence, seemed to have sunk upon the village. Now and then
I could hear the low laughter of some girl from within a neighboring
lodge, or the small shrill voices of a few restless children, who alone
were moving in the deserted area. The spirit of the place infected me;
I could not even think consecutively; I was fit only for musing and
reverie, when at last, like the rest, I fell asleep.

When evening came and the fires were lighted round the lodges, a select
family circle convened in the neighborhood of Reynal's domicile. It was
composed entirely of his squaw's relatives, a mean and ignoble clan,
among whom none but the Hail-Storm held forth any promise of future
distinction. Even his protests were rendered not a little dubious by the
character of the family, less however from any principle of aristocratic
distinction than from the want of powerful supporters to assist him in
his undertakings, and help to avenge his quarrels. Raymond and I sat
down along with them. There were eight or ten men gathered around the
fire, together with about as many women, old and young, some of whom
were tolerably good-looking. As the pipe passed round among the men,
a lively conversation went forward, more merry than delicate, and at
length two or three of the elder women (for the girls were somewhat
diffident and bashful) began to assail Raymond with various pungent
witticisms. Some of the men took part and an old squaw concluded
by bestowing on him a ludicrous nick name, at which a general laugh
followed at his expense. Raymond grinned and giggled, and made several
futile attempts at repartee. Knowing the impolicy and even danger of
suffering myself to be placed in a ludicrous light among the Indians,
I maintained a rigid inflexible countenance, and wholly escaped their
sallies.

In the morning I found, to my great disgust, that the camp was to retain
its position for another day. I dreaded its languor and monotony, and
to escape it, I set out to explore t