Loretto wanted to stay with his wife, but she begged him to go back, lest he should be killed on the spot.  At last he left her, and went back to the white men.

Night came on, and the Indians drew off.  Not much harm had been done to anybody.

Loretto could not be happy without his wife.  A few months later, he settled his accounts with the Fur Company and went away.  He went boldly into one of the villages of the savage Blackfeet.  Here he found his wife, and staid with her.

When the white men made peace with the Blackfeet, they set up a trading house among them.  Loretto joined the traders.  They were glad to have him, because he could speak the language of the tribe.

A BLACKFOOT STORY.

Here is a story the Indians tell.  It is one of the tales with which they amuse themselves in long evenings.  It may be true.  At least, the Indians tell it for true.

An Indian chief of the tribe called Blackfoot, or Blackfeet, went over the Rocky Mountains with a war party.  He killed some of the enemies of his tribe, and then started back.  For fear their enemies would follow their tracks, the party did not take the usual path.  They went up over the wildest part of the mountain.  But when it came to going down on the other side, the Indians had a hard time.

They had to clamber over great rocks and down the sides of cliffs.  Drifts of snow blocked their way in places.  At last they had to stop.  They stood on the edge of a cliff.  Below this cliff was a ridge or shelf of rock.  By tying themselves together, and so helping one another down, they got to this shelf.  Below this they found still another cliff.  It was harder to get down to this.

But when they had got down as far as this ledge, they were in a worse plight than ever.  They stood on the brink of a great cliff.  The rocks were too steep for them to get down.  It was hundreds of feet to the bottom.

They tried to get back up the mountain, but that they could not do.  Then they sat down and looked over the brink of the cliff.  There was no chance for them to get down alive.  They must stay there and starve.

The Indians filled their pipes with kinnikinnick, or willow bark, and smoked.  Then they knocked the ashes out of their pipes, and lay down to sleep.

But the chief did not sleep.  He could not think of any way of getting out of the trouble.  When morning came, they all went and looked over the cliff once more.  Then they smoked again.  After sitting silent for some time, the chief laid down his pipe quietly, got to his feet, and went to painting his face as if he were getting ready for a feast.  He arranged his dress with the greatest care.  Then he made a little speech.

“It is of no use to stay here and die,” he said.  “The Great Spirit is not willing that we should get away.  Let us die bravely.”

He added other remarks of the same kind.  Then he sang his death song.  When this was finished, he gave a shout, and leaped over the cliff.