Feb 26th

This morning shortly after breakfast, I took Welch and Jerry Potts, our interpreter[?] and went up to the Blackfoot Camp to see their Chief Crowfoot, who was quite sick. I gave him some medicine, and then assisted[?] Jerry in endeavoring to persuade a runaway squaw to come back to her husband. We succeeded. Since our arrival the squaws have struck[?], refusing to work and the husbands are in a quandary, if they follow their usual plan they would kill or mutilate the women, + thus keep them in order, but the women would now report this to the Commissioner, + the place would be rather hot[?] for the husbands. It is too bad. Again the day has passed and no Mail. Good night.

Feb. 8th

The Chenook [Chinook] continues and the prairies are a series of lakes running brooks + mud holes. You never saw such a change in your life, a few days ago, so white and cold and hard, now so black + brown + wet. This morning I got up and had a smoke before sick parade + had my breakfast afterwards. After breakfast I had one or two little things connected with the Mess which kept me busy until noon, I then sat down to read + read most of this afternoon. I got up and went out in the brush trying to find a shinny stick, but was unsuccessful. I then came home and read some more. After dinner I came in to write to you and that is what I am now doing. Allen + Welch were sent out this afternoon to look for some wagons that are expected in, they, (Allen + Welch) have just returned. I do not know if they saw the wagons or not. Winder was sent out this afternoon to get a runaway wife to return to her sorrowing Indian husband – I believe with success. I have set myself down to learn the Blackfoot language, and think that in a few months I shall probably be able to converse in broken Indian. Shall I write you a letter in Blackfoot? Some of the words are fearful jawbreakers, but time and use will render them easier on my jaw more accustomed, to them, I am going to leave you for the present and go down to the squaw dance.