At the mouth
of Medicine river, the air was literally clouded with feathered game,
hurrying into warmer latitudes from the frosty air of Montana and
Dakota. At nine o'clock in the morning a landing was effected at the
elbow of the great bend and breakfast made from choice bits of two
ducks, shot just before. About noon they entered a great curving
stretch of river, completely walled in on one side with hills, which
resembled a vast causeway or an arched cathedral. The rain had worn a
wondrous fretwork upon their sides and ribs of blue clay lent this
effect to the whole.
As Paul and Creelman had paddled all night without stopping, the
approach of the second night found them weary and numb with cold. There
were no signs of the Crow Creek Agency and they began to fear that the
settlement had been passed in the darkness. At midnight such a gale
sprang up that they were compelled to land on the east shore under the
shelter of a high cliff. A fire of driftwood was built and supper
cooked. Next morning the sun was melting the ice on the hillsides and
the frost had converted the wild grapes that hung above them into
clusters of pearls. But the beauty of the scene faded into nothingness
when they found they had withstood the cold of the night, while the Crow
Creek Agency was just on the other side of the river.
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