The greater part, however, were on foot. They
had perceived the trappers before they were themselves discovered, and
came down yelling and whooping into the plain. On nearer approach, they
were ascertained to be Blackfeet.
One of the trappers of Sublette's brigade, a half-breed named Antoine
Godin, now mounted his horse, and rode forth as if to hold a conference.
He was the son of an Iroquois hunter, who had been cruelly murdered by
the Blackfeet at a small stream below the mountains, which still bears
his name. In company with Antoine rode forth a Flathead Indian, whose
once powerful tribe had been completely broken down in their wars with
the Blackfeet. Both of them, therefore, cherished the most vengeful
hostility against these marauders of the mountains. The Blackfeet came
to a halt. One of the chiefs advanced singly and unarmed, bearing the
pipe of peace. This overture was certainly pacific; but Antoine and the
Flathead were predisposed to hostility, and pretended to consider it a
treacherous movement.
"Is your piece charged?" said Antoine to his red companion.
"It is."
"Then cock it, and follow me."
They met the Blackfoot chief half way, who 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 off with it as a trophy to the camp, the
bullets of the enemy whistling after him.
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