Mr. Carson gave every man his position.  They were all veterans in every exigence of Indian warfare.  Each man was capable of independent action.  They all knew the folly of throwing away a single shot.  There was no random firing.  Each man was trained to seek sure protection behind rock, stump or tree, and then to keep a vigilant watch, not only to guard himself but his immediate comrades from the missiles of the foe.  Slowly the line of trappers was to advance upon the enemy, from point to point of protection, making sure that every bullet should kill or wound.  The tactics of the battle secured the victory.  The Indians fought with their accustomed bravery.  But one after another their warriors fell killed or disabled.

As the gloom of a winter’s night settled down over this awful scene of war, the savages retired in good order, across the ice of an arm of the Yellowstone, to an island in the middle of the river.  They had adopted the precaution, unusual with them, of erecting here quite a strong fortress, to which they could retreat in case of disaster.  Thus situated, both parties, wearied with the long conflict of the day, sought such repose as night could give to men sleeping upon their arms.

The trappers knew not what scenes were transpiring in the Indian camp on the island.  As for themselves, they could only venture, with the utmost caution, to kindle small fires to cook their supper.  They then carefully extinguished the embers, lest the flames should guide several hundred warriors in a midnight attack.

Mr. Carson was not aware of the strength of the Indian fortifications on the island.  Not wishing to give them any time to strengthen their works, with the earliest dawn he put his men in motion.  They crossed the ice to the island, where they found only silence and desolation.  Not an Indian was to be seen.  In the night the savages had retreated, and were then probably at a distance of leagues, no one could tell where.  There were, however, many indications left of the results of the battle.  The interior of the fort was quite crimsoned with fresh blood.  A bloody trail led to a hole which they had cut through the ice in the middle of the river, and into which they had thrust the bodies of the slain.  It was not their intention that the trappers should know how many of their number had been wounded or slain.  Mr. Carson with his victorious associates returned to the camp.

A council of war was held.  It was generally supposed that the powerful Blackfeet could bring five thousand warriors into the field.  They were very resolute men; having been abundantly successful heretofore, it was not doubted they would strain every nerve to wipe out the disgrace of this defeat.  The trappers were confident that the savages would soon appear again, with numbers which they would deem sufficient to annihilate the white men.  Guided by the wisdom of Kit Carson, the whole camp immediately resolved itself into a military garrison.  Intrenchments were thrown up to guard every approach.  Everything was cleared away, around the camp within rifle range, behind which an Indian could secrete himself.  The most trusty men were appointed as sentinels.