There were five or six of these wigwams pitched close together.  Several women were moving about, or sitting on the ground.  In front of one stood a tall man wrapped in a buffalo robe, with a spear in his hand, whom I at once guessed to be the chief.  He contemplated us, as we drew near, without moving, or seeming in any way interested.  This manner was, I suspected, put on to show his own importance, when he discovered that a white person was among our party.  Getting still nearer, another Indian, who had been, I concluded, sleeping, and just awakened by the tramp of our horses, crawled out of the tent to have a look at us.  It was a perfect scene of Indian domestic life.  Near the chief, his wife sat on the ground playing with her child, a fat little urchin; a second woman was busy chopping wood; a third was coming in, axe in hand, with a huge bundle of sticks on her back, and a child clinging round her neck while a dog was too busy gnawing a bone to turn round and bark at us.