them. They thought the white people took it as an honor to them, and
every time in moving, Big Bear's band would tell us just where to put
our tents, and if one camped outside this circle, they would go and
cut their tent in pieces. In some of their dances, Little Poplar was
arrayed in some of Miss McLean's ribbons, ties and shawls, another
with my hat on, and another with Mrs. Delaney's, and the squaws with
our dresses, and they had a large dish of meat in the centre and
danced awhile, and sat down and ate and danced again, keeping this up
all day long. And if anyone lagged in the dance, it was a bad day for
him. Little Poplar had a whip, and he would ply it thick on the back
of the sluggish dancer.

One day just as we were eating dinner, an Indian came and invited us
out to a dog feast; the men went, but we preferred bannock and bacon,
to dog. They sent each of us _three yards_ of print to make us a
dress; a squaw takes no more than that. And then a friendly Indian
made me a present of a pair of green glasses.

A most dreadful affair occurred one day, they killed one of their
squaws, an old grey beaded woman that was insane. The Indians and
half-breeds were afraid of her, and she told them if they did not kill
her before the sun went down, she would eat the whole camp up. They
got some of the half-breeds to tie her; and they carried her out on a
hill, and one old half-breed struck her on the head, and the Indians
shot her in the head three times, cut it off and set fire to it; they
were very much afraid she would come back and do some harm to them.

One evening after making our bed for the night, four squaws came into
our tent and sat down for two hours, crying and singing and clapping
their hands, and after going out, some of the Indians took and tied