t.

Early on the following morning we made a startling discovery. We passed
close by a large deserted encampment of Arapahoes. There were about
fifty fires still smouldering on the ground, and it was evident from
numerous signs that the Indians must have left the place within two
hours of our reaching it. Their trail crossed our own at right angles,
and led in the direction of a line of hills half a mile on our left.
There were women and children in the party, which would have greatly
diminished the danger of encountering them. Henry Chatillon examined the
encampment and the trail with a very professional and businesslike air.

"Supposing we had met them, Henry?" said I.

"Why," said he, "we hold out our hands to them, and give them all we've
got; they take away everything, and then I believe they no kill us.
Perhaps," added he, looking up with a quiet, unchanged face, "perhaps we
no let them rob us. Maybe before they come near, we have a chance to get
into a ravine, or under the bank of the river; then, you know, we fight
them."

About noon on that day we reached Cherry Creek. Here was a great
abundance of wild cherries, plums, gooseberries, and currants. The
stream, however, like most of the others which we passed, was dried up
with the heat, and we had to dig holes in the sand to find water for
ourselves and our horses. Two days after, we left the banks of the creek
which we had been following for some time, and began to cross the high
dividing ridge which separates the waters of the Platte from those
of the Arkansas. The scenery was altogether changed. In place of the
burning plains we were passing now through rough and savage glens and
among hills crowned with a dreary growth of pines. We encamped among
these solitudes on the night of the 16th of August. A tempest was
threatening. The sun went down among volumes of jet-black cloud, edged
with a bloody red. But in spite of these portentous signs, we neglected
to put up the tent, and being extremely fatigued, lay down on the ground
and fell asleep. The storm broke about midnight, and we erected the
tent amid darkness and confusion. In the morning all was fair again,
and Pike's Peak, white with snow, was towering above the wilderness afar
off.

We pushed through an extensive tract of pine woods. Large black
squirrels were leaping among the branches. From the farther edge of
this forest we saw the prairie again, hollowed out before us into a vast
basin, and about