Such are the Black Hills, as I found them in July; but they wear a
different garb when winter sets in, when the broad boughs of the fir
tree are bent to the ground by the load of snow, and the dark
mountains are whitened with it.
At that season the mountain-
trappers, returned from their autumn expeditions, often build their
rude cabins in the midst of these solitudes, and live in abundance
and luxury on the game that harbors there. I have heard them relate,
how with their tawny mistresses, and perhaps a few young Indian
companions, they have spent months in total seclusion. They would
dig pitfalls, and set traps for the white wolves, the sables, and the
martens, and though through the whole night the awful chorus of the
wolves would resound from the frozen mountains around them, yet
within their massive walls of logs they would lie in careless ease
and comfort before the blazing fire, and in the morning shoot the elk
and the deer from their very door.
CHAPTER XVIII
A MOUNTAIN HUNT
The camp was full of the newly-cut lodge-poles; some, already
prepared, were stacked together, white and glistening, to dry and
harden in the sun; others were lying on the ground, and the squaws,
the boys, and even some of the warriors were busily at work peeling
off the bark and paring them with their knives to the proper
dimensions. Most of the hides obtained at the last camp were dressed
and scraped thin enough for use, and many of the squaws were engaged
in fitting them together and sewing them with sinews, to form the
coverings for the lodges.
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