“Is your piece charged?” said Antoine to his companion.

“It is.”

“Then cock it and follow me.”

They met the Blackfoot chief half-way.  He extended his hand in friendship.  Antoine grasped it.

“Fire!” cried he.

The Flathead levelled his piece, and brought the Blackfoot to the ground.  Antoine snatched off his scarlet blanket, which was richly ornamented, and galloped away with it as a trophy to the camp, the bullets of the enemy whistling after him.  The Indians immediately threw themselves into the edge of a swamp, among willows and cottonwood trees, interwoven with vines.  Here they began to fortify themselves, the women digging a trench and throwing up a breastwork of logs and branches, deep hid in the bosom of the wood, while the warriors skirmished at the edge to keep the trappers at bay.

The latter took their station in front, whence they kept up a scattering fire.  As to Wyeth, and his little band of “down easters,” they were perfectly astounded by this second specimen of life in the wilderness; the men, being especially unused to bush-fighting and the use of the rifle, were at a loss how to act.  Wyeth, however, acted as a skilful commander.  He got all the horses into camp and secured them; then, making a breastwork of his packs of goods, he charged his men to remain in the garrison, and not to stir out of their fort.  For himself, he mingled with the other leaders, determined to take his share in the conflict.

In the meantime, an express had been sent off to the rendezvous for re-enforcements.  Captain Sublette and his associate, Campbell, were at their camp when the express came galloping across the plain, waving his cap, and giving the alarm, “Blackfeet!  Blackfeet! a fight in the upper part of the valley!—­to arms! to arms!”

The alarm was passed from camp to camp.  It was a common cause.  Every one turned out with horse and rifle.  The Nez Perces and Flatheads joined.  As fast as the trappers could arm and mount they galloped off; the valley was soon alive with white men and Indians scouring at full speed.

Sublette ordered his party to keep to the camp, being recruits from St. Louis, and unused to Indian warfare, but he and his friend Campbell prepared for action.  Throwing off their coats, rolling up their sleeves, and arming themselves with pistols and rifles, they mounted their horses and dashed forward among the first.  As they rode along they made their wills in soldier-like style, each stating how his effects should be disposed of in case of his death, and appointing the other as his executor.

The Blackfeet warriors had supposed that the party of Milton Sublette was all the foe they had to deal with, and were astonished to behold the whole valley suddenly swarming with horsemen, galloping to the field of action.  They withdrew into their fort, which was completely hidden from sight in the dark and tangled wood.  Most of their women and children had retreated to the mountains.  The trappers now sallied out and approached the swamp, firing into the thickets at random.  The Blackfeet had a better sight of their adversaries, who were in the open field, and a half-breed was wounded in the shoulder.