I had in my hand half a dozen squibs and serpents, which I had made
one day when encamped upon Laramie Creek, out of gunpowder and
charcoal, and the leaves of "Fremont's Expedition," rolled round a
stout lead pencil.
I waited till I contrived to get hold of the
large piece of burning BOIS DE VACHE which the Indians kept by them
on the ground for lighting their pipes. With this I lighted all the
fireworks at once, and tossed them whizzing and sputtering into the
air, over the heads of the company. They all jumped up and ran off
with yelps of astonishment and consternation. After a moment or two,
they ventured to come back one by one, and some of the boldest,
picking up the cases of burnt paper that were scattered about,
examined them with eager curiosity to discover their mysterious
secret. From that time forward I enjoyed great repute as a "fire-
medicine."
The camp was filled with the low hum of cheerful voices. There were
other sounds, however, of a very different kind, for from a large
lodge, lighted up like a gigantic lantern by the blazing fire within,
came a chorus of dismal cries and wailings, long drawn out, like the
howling of wolves, and a woman, almost naked, was crouching close
outside, crying violently, and gashing her legs with a knife till
they were covered with blood. Just a year before, a young man
belonging to this family had gone out with a war party and had been
slain by the enemy, and his relatives were thus lamenting his loss.
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