It lay, like a great,
broad river guarded on either side by the mountains. The prospect
was very beautiful. Everywhere along the way we found their
camping places chosen from among the most beautiful spots, and
there seemed abundant evidence that in many another Indian breast
dwelt the heart of Saltatha, Warburton Pike's famous guide, who
when the good priest had told him of the beauties of heaven said,
"My Father, you have spoken well. You have told me that heaven is
beautiful. Tell me now one thing more. Is it more beautiful than
the land of the musk ox in summer, when sometimes the mist blows
over the lakes, and sometimes the waters are blue, and the loons
call very often? This is beautiful, my Father. If heaven is more
beautiful I shall be content to rest there till I am very old."
The camp consisted of two large wigwams, the covers of which were
of dressed deer-skins sewed together and drawn tight over the
poles, while across the doorway bung an old piece of sacking. The
covers were now worn and old and dirty-grey in colour save round
the opening at the top, where they were blackened by the smoke from
the fire in the centre of the wigwam.
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