kept slowly writhing about, almost touched the ground, and the body in the largest part was as thick as a stout man’s arm.  He had fourteen rattles, but the end of his tail was blunted, as if he could once have boasted of many more.  From this time till we reached the Pueblo we killed at least four or five of these snakes every day as they lay coiled and rattling on the hot sand.  Shaw was the St. Patrick of the party, and whenever he or any one else killed a snake he always pulled off his tail and stored it away in his bullet-pouch, which was soon crammed with an edifying collection of rattles, great and small.  Delorier, with his whip, also came in for a share of the praise.  A day or two after this he triumphantly produced a small snake about a span and a half long, with one infant rattle at the end of his tail.

We forded the South Fork of the Platte.  On its farther bank were the traces of a very large camp of Arapahoes.  The ashes of some three hundred fires were visible among the scattered trees, together with the remains of sweating lodges, and all the other appurtenances of a permanent camp.  The place however had been for some months deserted.  A few miles farther on we found more recent signs of Indians; the trail of two or three lodges, which had evidently passed the day before, where every foot-print was perfectly distinct in the dry, dusty soil.  We noticed in particular the track of one moccasin, upon the sole of which its economical proprietor had placed a large patch.  These signs gave us but little uneasiness, as the number of the warriors scarcely exceeded that of our own party.  At noon we rested under the walls of a large fort, built in these solitudes some years since by M. St. Vrain.  It was now abandoned and fast falling into ruin.  The walls of unbaked bricks were cracked from top to bottom.  Our horses recoiled in terror from the neglected entrance, where the heavy gates were torn from their hinges and flung down.  The area within was overgrown with weeds, and the long ranges of apartments, once occupied by the motley concourse of traders, Canadians, and squaws, were now miserably dilapidated.  Twelve miles further on, near the spot where we encamped, were the remains of still another fort, standing in melancholy desertion and neglect.

Early on the following morning we made a startling discovery.  We passed close by a large deserted encampment of Arapahoes.  There were about fifty fires still smouldering on the ground, and it was evident from numerous signs that the Indians must have left the place within two hours of our reaching it.  Their trail crossed our own at right angles, and led in the direction of a line of hills half a mile on our left.  There were women and children in the party, which would have greatly diminished the danger of encountering them.  Henry Chatillon examined the encampment and the trail with a very professional and businesslike air.

“Supposing we had met them, Henry?” said I.