The village encamped on a scorching prairie, close to the foot of the
mountains. The beat was most intense and penetrating. The coverings
of the lodges were raised a foot or more from the ground, in order to
procure some circulation of air; and Reynal thought proper to lay
aside his trapper's dress of buckskin and assume the very scanty
costume of an Indian. Thus elegantly attired, he stretched himself
in his lodge on a buffalo robe, alternately cursing the heat and
puffing at the pipe which he and I passed between us. There was
present also a select circle of Indian friends and relatives. A
small boiled puppy was served up as a parting feast, to which was
added, by way of dessert, a wooden bowl of gooseberries, from the
mountains.
"Look there," said Reynal, pointing out of the opening of his lodge;
"do you see that line of buttes about fifteen miles off? Well, now,
do you see that farthest one, with the white speck on the face of it?
Do you think you ever saw it before?"
"It looks to me," said I, "like the hill that we were camped under
when we were on Laramie Creek, six or eight weeks ago."
"You've hit it," answered Reynal.
"Go and bring in the animals, Raymond," said I: "we'll camp there to-
night, and start for the Fort in the morning."
The mare and the mule were soon before the lodge.
