Red Plume — page 10: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

10° RED PLUME: considered themselves in no sort of danger, or smoke would not have been issuing from the peaks of the skin-lodges, and horses would not have been grazing at will on the abundant grass of the plain.» | . The lodges belonged to a band of the Blackfeet Fibs, those dangerous banditti of the mountains, whose hand was against every man .and every man’s hand against them; whose fierce, warlike and implacable dispositions kept them ‘continually at war with other tribes and with the white men - who occasionally invaded their territory. But, this band seemed inclined to be peaceable, to wish only to feed their horses in that luxuriant pasture, and to drink the sparkling waters of the Saskatchie. They seemed to consider them- selves in perfect security, although their hereditary enemies, the Crows, lay above them, near-the foot of the Yellowstone range, and hovered beyond them on the broad prairie; and although it was the season when bands of trappers and other whites were expected to be making their way westward. Under the tall cottonwoods, and near the belt of willows - that skirted the glistening stream, two Indians, a young war- rior and a young woman, were walking on the soft carpet of green grass, and talking im tones hardly louder than the soughing of the wind among the branches. The warrior was a splendid specimen of Indian manhood —tall, well molded, lithe and sinewy, with really noble fea- tures, flashing eyes, high brow, and finely-arched lips. He looked like a free son of the mountains, and nof like the lower order of beings who roamed the prairies and hung ‘about the borders of the settlements. ~ His bright-colored war- paint, while- it by no means improved his appearance, pro- claimed that he was already renowned in the tribe as a war- rlor, a fact that was further evidenced by his head-ornament of eagles’ feathers, over which waved, and floated: gracefully backward, a long, scarlet plume. The young woman was not a maiden, but the wife of Nip- muck-we, otherwise known as Fat Bear} the old chief who was at the head of the band. She was beautiful, in the Indian style; although she was a squaw, and it was for her handsome face and form that the old Bear had chosen her, Without consulting her own wishes, and had made her his commicbooks.com