The Big Crow’s squaw was set briskly at work sweeping out the lodge for the approaching festivity.  I confided to my host himself the task of inviting the guests, thinking that I might thereby shift from my own shoulders the odium of fancied neglect and oversight.

When feasting is in question, one hour of the day serves an Indian as well as another.  My entertainment came off about eleven o’clock.  At that hour, Reynal and Raymond walked across the area of the village, to the admiration of the inhabitants, carrying the two kettles of dog-meat slung on a pole between them.  These they placed in the center of the lodge, and then went back for the bread and the tea.  Meanwhile I had put on a pair of brilliant moccasins, and substituted for my old buckskin frock a coat which I had brought with me in view of such public occasions.  I also made careful use of the razor, an operation which no man will neglect who desires to gain the good opinion of Indians.  Thus attired, I seated myself between Reynal and Raymond at the head of the lodge.  Only a few minutes elapsed before all the guests had come in and were seated on the ground, wedged together in a close circle around the lodge.  Each brought with him a wooden bowl to hold his share of the repast.  When all were assembled, two of the officials called “soldiers” by the white men, came forward with ladles made of the horn of the Rocky Mountain sheep, and began to distribute the feast, always assigning a double share to the old men and chiefs.  The dog vanished with astonishing celerity, and each guest turned his dish bottom upward to show that all was gone.  Then the bread was distributed in its turn, and finally the tea.  As the soldiers poured it out into the same wooden bowls that had served for the substantial part of the meal, I thought it had a particularly curious and uninviting color.

“Oh!” said Reynal, “there was not tea enough, so I stirred some soot in the kettle, to make it look strong.”

Fortunately an Indian’s palate is not very discriminating.  The tea was well sweetened, and that was all they cared for.

Now the former part of the entertainment being concluded, the time for speech-making was come.  The Big Crow produced a flat piece of wood on which he cut up tobacco and shongsasha, and mixed them in due proportions.  The pipes were filled and passed from hand to hand around the company.  Then I began my speech, each sentence being interpreted by Reynal as I went on, and echoed by the whole audience with the usual exclamations of assent and approval.  As nearly as I can recollect, it was as follows: 

I had come, I told them, from a country so far distant, that at the rate they travel, they could not reach it in a year.

“Howo how!”

“There the Meneaska were more numerous than the blades of grass on the prairie.  The squaws were far more beautiful than any they had ever seen, and all the men were brave warriors.”