About an half hour elapsed while these movements were taking place with each party.  The trappers all dismounted and then, in a long line, with cheers advanced in Indian fashion, from tree to tree, from rock to rock, every moment drawing nearer to their determined foes.  The great battle, the Waterloo conflict, now commenced.  Small as were the numbers engaged, limited as was the field of action, there was perhaps never a battle in which more personal courage was displayed, or in which more skill and endurance was called into requisition.  Not unfrequently a trapper would occupy one side of a large boulder and an Indian warrior the other, each watching for the life of his adversary, while every fibre of mental and muscular power were roused to activity.  Neither could leave his covert without certain death, and one or the other must inevitably fall.

For an hour or two this dreadful conflict continued.  Gradually the superiority of the white man, and the vast advantage which the rifle gave, began to be manifest.  The Indians were slowly driven back, from tree to rock, from rock to tree.  Many of their warriors had fallen in death.  The ground was crimsoned with their blood.  The disheartened Indians began to waver, then to retreat; and then as the trappers made a simultaneous charge, and the rifle bullets whistled around them, to run in complete rout, scattering in all directions.  It was in vain to attempt any pursuit.  The women and children of the Blackfeet village were on an eminence, about a mile from their homes, awaiting the issue of the conflict.  They also instantly disappeared, seeking refuge no one knew where.

In this battle a large number of the Indians were killed or wounded, we know not how many.  But three of the trappers were killed, though many others received wounds more or less severe.  The Indian village was located on very fine camping-ground.  They left nothing behind them.  An Indian woman needs no Saratoga trunk for her wardrobe.  Their comfortable wigwams were left standing.  Here Fontenelle allowed his party to rest for several days.  The dead were to be buried, the wounded to be nursed, damages to be repaired, and a new supply of provisions to be obtained.  Free from all fear of molestation, the trappers explored the region for miles around, and were very successful in taking beavers.

It is estimated that the various parties of trappers, then wandering among the mountains, numbered at least six hundred men.  While our trappers were thus encamped, elated with their victory over the Indians, and still more exultant over their daily success in trapping and hunting, one day an express rode into the camp, and informed them that the rendezvous was to be held, that year, upon the Mud river, a small stream flowing circuitously from the south into Green river.  The party, having a large stock of beaver on hand, set out to cross the main ridge of the Rocky mountains, to dispose of their furs at the rendezvous.  It required a journey of eight days.  As the trapping party, nearly a hundred in number, all mounted on gayly caparisoned steeds, and leading one or two hundred pack horses, entered the valley over the distant eminences, there were two scenes presented to the eye, each peculiar in many aspects of sublimity and beauty.