They were on a branch of the Missouri called Jefferson Fork, and had set their traps at night, about six miles up a small river that emptied into the fork.  Early in the morning they ascended the river in a canoe, to examine the traps.  The banks on each side were high and perpendicular, and cast a shade over the stream.  As they were softly paddling along, they heard the trampling of many feet upon the banks.  Colter immediately gave the alarm of “Indians!” and was for instant retreat.  Potts scoffed at him for being frightened by the trampling of a herd of buffaloes.  Colter checked his uneasiness and paddled forward.  They had not gone much further when frightful whoops and yells burst forth from each side of the river, and several hundred Indians appeared on either bank.  Signs were made to the unfortunate trappers to come on shore.  They were obliged to comply.  Before they could get out of their canoe, a savage seized the rifle belonging to Potts.  Colter sprang on shore, wrestled the weapon from the hands of the Indian, and restored it to his companion, who was still in the canoe, and immediately pushed into the stream.  There was the sharp twang of a bow, and Potts cried out that he was wounded.  Colter urged him to come on shore and submit, as his only chance for life; but the other knew there was no prospect of mercy, and determined to die game.  Leveling his rifle, he shot one of the savages dead on the spot.  The next moment he fell himself, pierced with innumerable arrows.

The vengeance of the savages now turned upon Colter.  He was stripped naked, and, having some knowledge of the Blackfoot language, overheard a consultation as to the mode of despatching him, so as to derive the greatest amusement from his death.  Some were for setting him up as a mark, and having a trial of skill at his expense.  The chief, however, was for nobler sport.  He seized Colter by the shoulder, and demanded if he could run fast.  The unfortunate trapper was too well acquainted with Indian customs not to comprehend the drift of the question.  He knew he was to run for his life, to furnish a kind of human hunt to his persecutors.  Though in reality he was noted among his brother hunters for swiftness of foot, he assured the chief that he was a very bad runner.  His stratagem gained him some vantage ground.  He was led by the chief into the prairie, about four hundred yards from the main body of savages, and then turned loose to save himself if he could.  A tremendous yell let him know that the whole pack of bloodhounds were off in full cry.  Colter flew rather than ran; he was astonished at his own speed; but he had six miles of prairie to traverse before he should reach the Jefferson Fork of the Missouri; how could he hope to hold out such a distance with the fearful odds of several hundred to one against him!  The plain, too, abounded with the prickly pear, which wounded his naked feet.  Still he fled on, dreading each moment to hear the twang of