On nearer approach,
they were ascertained to be Blackfeet.
One of the trappers of Sublette's brigade, a half-breed named
Antoine Godin, now mounted his horse, and rode forth as if to
hold a conference. He was the son of an Iroquois hunter, who had
been cruelly murdered by the Blackfeet at a small stream below
the mountains, which still bears his name. In company with
Antoine rode forth a Flathead Indian, whose once powerful tribe
had been completely broken down in their wars with the Blackfeet.
Both of them, therefore, cherished the most vengeful hostility
against these marauders of the mountains. The Blackfeet came to a
halt. One of the chiefs advanced singly and unarmed, bearing the
pipe of peace. This overture was certainly pacific; but Antoine
and the Flathead were predisposed to hostility, and pretended to
consider it a treacherous movement.
"Is your piece charged?" said Antoine to his red companion.
"It is."
"Then cock it, and follow me."
They met the Blackfoot chief half way, who extended his hand in
friendship. Antoine grasped it.
"Fire! " cried he.
The Flathead levelled his piece, and brought the Blackfoot to the
ground. Antoine snatched off his scarlet blanket, which was
richly ornamented, and galloped off with it as a trophy to the
camp, the bullets of the enemy whistling after him. The Indians
immediately threw themselves into the edge of a swamp, among
willows and cotton-wood trees, interwoven with vines.
