HUNTING ANECDOTES AND EXPERIENCES—CHRISTMAS—CONWELL AND HIS REMINISCENCES.

Meantime it grew dusk, and Slowtrap returned with seven ducks, three of which had had their heads shot off. Meat was now plentiful. After S. had made himself comfortable—that is to say, had taken off his hat, laid aside his rifle and pouch, pulled off his wet shoes and stockings, taken unto himself a slice of cold turkey, with its appropriate maize bread and boiled pumpkin, seated himself with his feet to the fire, cut off a piece of his chair to make a toothpick, and begun complacently to pick his teeth, a sure sign that he felt comfortable, all which operations took about three quarters of an hour—he asked, “Well, what’s the news?” As the answer was not encouraging, another long pause ensued. When it was quite dark, and a good fire was burning, his wife brought us some bread and milk, of which he partook largely, and then began to thaw, and speak of his exploits: he had fired eleven times, and his piece had missed fire twenty-seven times, a habit the old flint gun had; but he had nevertheless brought home seven ducks, and he had seen a fresh panther trail; the panther had probably seen him from a tree, and jumped down and escaped.

He took particular notice of my panther skin, and thought that there must be a number of them about, but that formerly there were more than twice as many in Kentucky. “Ah, at that time,” said he, “a man might shoot five or six deer before breakfast, and once I had got up at daylight, and shot two noble bucks, and stalked a third for half a mile, when he got scent of me, and escaped. I was tired with my exertions, and had scarcely any sleep all night, for a rascally panther had been howling near me, and several times came so close to the fire that I could make out his form, though he never gave me time to put a ball into him with certainty. So I threw myself under a tree, to rest a little, meaning then to continue my sport; but somehow my eyes closed unconsciously;—and I can’t say how long I may have lain there, when, still half asleep, I heard a strong rustling amongst the dry leaves which surrounded me, and felt that they were being thrown over me, so that I was quite covered in a few minutes. Surprise at first, and then an instinct of danger, which I did not quite understand, kept me motionless, awaiting the result: before I had formed any resolution, I heard something moving stealthily away, and cautiously raising my head, saw a panther disappear in the thicket. My first act was to jump up and look to my priming, and as I saw nothing more of the beast, though I was sure that it would return, I resolved to oppose cunning to cunning. A piece of a broken bough lay near; I dragged it to the spot, and covered it carefully with dried leaves—then, slinging my rifle on my back, I mounted a neighboring oak to await in patience, but with a beating heart, the conclusion of the adventure, as the panther might return at any moment. I may have sat for rather more than half an hour, my eyes steadfastly fixed on the place where the panther had vanished, when the bough began to move, and the female panther (for a female it turned out to be), reappeared with two cubs, intending, no doubt, that I should serve as supper for the family. This time she had reckoned without her host. I remained silent and motionless in the tree, watching every movement and keeping the rifle in readiness. She crept stealthily to within fifteen paces of the spot where she had left me covered up with leaves, and crouched down with her green eyes glaring upon the log; the next instant she made a spring, struck the claws of both her fore feet into it, and buried her sharp fangs deep in the rotten wood. When she found herself deceived she remained for a moment or two in the same attitude, quite confounded. I did not leave her much time for consideration; my ball crashed through her brain, and she fell dead on her supposed prey, without a moan. I killed the two young ones easily enough.”

He had hardly finished the anecdote, when the dogs began to bark, and, by and by, we jumped up to see what was the matter. It was a neighbor, named Collmar, from the other side of the hill. I took the

saddle off his horse, and laid it under one of the beds, tied up the horse to a young tree, shoved a roughly-hewn trough before him, which I filled with maize, and his eager munching proved how well he was satisfied with all the proceedings. Collmar had come over the hill to invite us to assist in erecting a new house. He had collected all the logs on the spot, and now, according to American custom, was calling on his neighbors to come and assist in raising them. S. was his nearest neighbor but one, and lived nine miles distant; the next dwelt eight miles further.

I promised to come at all events, but it was against Slowtrap’s habit to promise any thing two days in advance. Besides, his wife and his youngest child were both unwell. We shortened the evening with stories and anecdotes. Collmar was off with the dawn to prepare for the following day. I took my rifle and lounged into the forest with Bearsgrease to look for a turkey. He drove a gang into the trees, at less than half a mile from the house; but the wood was so thick and overgrown, that before I could come up to see which trees they had perched in, they had so hidden amongst the branches that there was not a trace of them to be seen. I therefore whistled for my dog, and hid behind a tree to await the time when they would think themselves safe, and begin to call. I had not long to wait; ere long they began to cry, and about a hundred yards in front of me, a large cock raised himself on a branch, where he had nestled without my perceiving him. Without trying to get nearer, I took aim at once, and hit the turkey, which fell flapping from the tree; but the bushes were so thick that I should have lost him, had not Bearsgrease dashed in with the greatest intrepidity, in spite of thorns and creepers. The turkey, whose fall had been broken by the wild vines, had no sooner touched the ground, than he made a quick run for a cane-brake, and disappeared, with Bearsgrease bounding and barking on his trail. On forcing my way through the canes, I witnessed an interesting struggle between the two. The dog was still young, and the turkey a fellow of twenty or twenty-two pounds; and Bearsgrease, knowing that he must not injure him, tried to hold him with his fore paws, whilst the turkey, which was only wounded in the left wing, constantly succeeded in escaping, and running a yard or two before the dog could pin him again. After watching them for some time, I put an end to the struggle by cutting off the turkey’s head with my knife, and carried him home. I then saddled Slowtrap’s old pony, and set off over the mountain to gain Collmar’s house before night, leaving Bearsgrease behind me.

The hills and rivers south of the Arkansas almost all run, like that river, from west to east, and the hills have a peculiar formation. The middle row or back-bone ridge is the highest, and generally on either side are two or three lower ranges of hills, running parallel to the main range, and sloping more and more towards the plain. All the smaller rivers which run into the Arkansas from this side, have such hills between them. I rode slowly up and down these hills looking out for game. I had left my hunting-shirt behind, and a sharp north wind began to chill me a little; but I did not like covering myself with the blanket which lay across my saddle. Suddenly I saw a fox watching me from the side of a hill beyond a little brook. I raised myself slowly in the saddle, and fired; but my hand shook so with the cold that I missed him. After the report, when the smoke cleared away, the fox had disappeared; I jumped off and ran to the place where he had been standing, to see if I could find traces of the ball—finding none I reloaded, and returned to the horse, which was quietly grazing. With my left foot in the stirrup, and in the act of throwing my right leg over the saddle, what was my astonishment to see the fox in the same place as before, looking as unconcerned as if nothing had happened! I had to turn my horse before I could take aim, and the fox turned at the same time. A loud whistle made him stop for a moment to see what it was; he was off again before I could fire, but not quick enough to escape my ball. The jump he gave showed he was hit; so, throwing myself off the horse, I hastened after him. When he heard the bushes rustling, he stood still to listen. This allowed me to approach him: the shot had broken his left hind leg; and, throwing away every thing that hindered me in running, I darted after him. Dragging his wounded leg, he limped along the side of the hill; but, finding that I gained on him, he turned towards the summit. I had run for a good half mile, and too much out of breath to breast the hill, I soon lost sight of him. Heated and tired, I returned to the horse, picking up my rifle, powder-horn, pouch, and cap, by the way, enveloped myself in my blanket, and mounted my patient steed.

I soon crossed the highest summit of the range, and running down by the side of a small stream southwards from the hills, in about an hour and a half arrived at the place where Collmar’s house was to be built, and where some of those who had arrived before me were occupied in cutting the logs.

The ground was already prepared and planks cut; other neighbors arrived from time to time with their dogs and guns, and the clearing was filled with laughing, talkative groups.

The horses were hobbled near some reeds, with plenty of maize shaken down in a dry place. In the evening, we all assembled at Collmar’s hut, or rather shed, formed of boards fastened together, supported by poles, and containing three roughly-hewn bedsteads, a weaver’s loom, and two spinning-wheels. It may have been about fifty feet long and twenty wide, with the floor as nature supplied it. Rifles and saddles lay about; three pairs of deer hams adorned one corner, and dried pumpkins hanging to poles, formed the sky to this paradise.

Immense blazing logs were heaped up in one blackened corner, and from time to time it was necessary to throw a pail of water over the fire to prevent the planks from burning; and then clouds of ashes threatened us with the fate of Herculaneum and Pompeii.

All sorts of cooking utensils were crowded round the fire—a turkey was stuck upon a stick to roast by the side of an opossum, dangling on a string from the roof. Notwithstanding my long abode amongst people who were passionately fond of this article of food, I could never bring myself to eat a thing with a rat’s head and tail, and hand-like claws. The prospect of a good supper was a delight to my hungry stomach. Meantime, I was much diverted by a bargain about cows going on between two old backwoodsmen: but, before discussing this subject, it will be as well to say something of the other inmates of the shed. Collmar’s wife, a stout, strong-built woman of about thirty-four, with two daughters of fourteen and ten, were all that belonged to the fair sex. They were busily employed about the fire with long-handled spoons, turning the meat in the frying-pans, and basting the turkey and opossum; five smaller figures, with a tin pot of milk in one hand and a lump of maize bread in the other, huddled near the fire, stared at the strangers with all their eyes. The hostess soon made room for the company by sending the children to bed. But to return to the bargainers about the cows. Instead of each praising his own cow, they found so much fault with them, that their own calves, if they had heard it, must have felt ashamed of them. After above an hour’s discussion on the faults and failings of their horned property, they observed that they could not part with them without giving something into the bargain, as even their hides were worth nothing. These calumnies were put an end to by the announcement, “Supper is ready.” Boxes, chairs, and logs were placed round the table for seats. Turkey, venison, pork, opossum, maize bread, and the favorite beverage of the backwoodsman, coffee, disappeared so rapidly that soon nothing was left but the bones of the animals, the remembrance of the bread, and the grounds of the coffee. One after another rose when he had had enough, and then the woman-folk, who had wisely kept something for themselves, took their places. This is one of the customs of the West which always displeased me. The hostess seldom sits down to table with the men, except now and then at tea or coffee. The other custom, that of rising when they had had enough, without regard to those who remained at table, was not so bad.

After supper the company formed various groups, and the conversation turned on shooting, pasture grounds, the survey of the land that had recently been accomplished, and then on religion. Words soon ran high; for among the company were Methodists, Baptists, Presbyterians, and unbelievers—but all disputes were put an end to by the arrival of two large jugs of whiskey, each containing about four bottles, which Collmar had sent his eldest son, a lad of fifteen, to fetch from a distant store. The boy had been obliged to ride slowly for fear of breaking the jugs.

The old bear-shooters were highly amused at the following account one of the party gave of a bear-hunt that had occurred in North Carolina, and which gave a sad picture of the low state to which field sports had fallen there. “In order to have a bear-hunt several farmers met, and let loose a tame two-year-old bear, giving him half an hour’s law, and then following with horse and hound. The bear made straight for some hills, and in about an hour and a half’s time was chased into a tree. Not wishing to kill him, no one had brought a rifle; so I went to a house about half a mile off, and borrowed an axe to cut down the tree. The bear looked with inquisitive eyes on the proceedings below, and did not appear to suspect danger, till the tree fell with a tremendous crash; men and dogs threw themselves on the half-stunned bear, to secure him and take him home; but the majority voted for another hunt, so the dogs were held in and the bear let loose. After a time, we all went after him again; this time the chase lasted longer, as the bear swam a river, and to avoid a wetting we turned off to a bridge, giving the bear a great advantage. At length, when we got close to him, he took to an enormous fir-tree, and we all assembled under it; none of us knew how to get him down again. We were several miles from any house, and had left the axe behind us, and he seemed to set us at defiance in his lofty position. Nevertheless he did not seem quite at his ease, and kept looking anxiously first on one side, and then on the other, at the dogs who were jumping and barking round the trunk of the tree. This inspired an old Virginian of the party with a new idea. There were several pine branches lying about; so, taking up one of the heaviest and longest, he commenced striking the tree with all his force. At the first blow, the bear gave a start as if electrified, and at the second or third he darted down like lightning among the dogs, when he was soon secured and taken home. He was once more allowed to run about for a couple of years, when he grew very fat, and in good condition for killing, and he was slaughtered accordingly.” When the story was ended, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and slept soundly, though occasionally disturbed by some thirsty souls who rose to get a drink. It was lucky for those who were lying in the outer rows that most of the water seekers wore moccasins.

We were up at daybreak, and prepared to build the house by first making a large fire to warm our hands and feet. A man with an axe stood in each corner of the rising house, to cut the mortices and fit them into each other, while the rest of the party raised the logs; no trifling labor, as the house was to have two stories. By the evening, it was all up except the roof, when rain began to fall, and the logs became too slippery to admit of our standing on them; so the completion was left till dry weather.

We remained the night at Collmar’s, and departed next day on our various ways, after a very frugal breakfast, for we had devoured all his store.

It was cold and foggy, and I was glad to get to Hogarth’s, where I passed the night, returning next day to Slowtrap’s. On relating the extraordinary behavior of the fox; he gave one of his smiles, and told many droll stories of the tricks of foxes, and one of a wild-cat, which attacked a man in the marshes of the Cash. The man had gone out early in the morning to shoot a turkey, and hearing a cock gobbling away with all his might, he placed himself behind a fallen tree, and began to use his call, when a wild-cat, probably deceived by the sound, sprang upon him like a fury, and attempted to bite through the veins of his neck. He found it impossible to pull the beast off, and was obliged to kill it behind his back with his scalping-knife; he was confined to his bed for several weeks, before he recovered from the ugly wounds caused by the cat’s teeth and claws.

The weather cleared up next morning, and as old Slowtrap was still unprepared for his journey, I resolved to cross the river to shoot, and went to Curly’s on the same day. As the deer kept themselves close hid in the daytime, we determined to have a shot in the night. An iron pan was soon prepared, and with my old German game-bag, which had accompanied me in all my wanderings, full of kindlers, our rolled-up blankets on our shoulders, we set off as soon as it was dark. A sharp wind had made the leaves so dry in the course of a few hours, that our footsteps might be heard at three hundred yards off; consequently we saw no deer, and after carrying the pan to and fro for about three hours, we got tired of such useless trouble. On arriving at a small stream, we made a good fire, and after a frugal supper had set our chins for a very short time in motion, we rolled ourselves in our blankets, and lay down each with his dog pressed close to his side.

We rose at daybreak, and following different routes, appointed a rendezvous at Curly’s, as we did not mean to make a long affair of it. Bad luck seemed to stick to us, for though we found plenty of trails, we saw no game. At length Bearsgrease found a fresh trail, and followed it up, often looking round to see if I was near him; so I kept as close as possible. Suddenly he stood still and pointed, and an old buck got up about fifty yards from us, and made a half circle round us. When I gave a hail, he stood still as if to ask what I wanted. It happened that I was to windward of him; and snuffing the air he gave a bound, which caused my ball to strike too far backwards under his spine, bringing him on his haunches. Bearsgrease had been observing it all with remarkable patience, only turning his head from one to the other;—but now giving vent to his eagerness he darted on the deer, seized him by the jaw, and springing over his back, brought him to the ground. I had now a good opportunity of cutting the deer’s throat, but wished to give the dog a little practice, and I watched the struggle with the greatest interest. The buck was one of twelve branches, and had the full use of the forepart of his body. He strove to hit the dog with his sharp hoof, and to run his horns into him; but the dog cleverly eluded all his attempts, and at last seizing him by the throat, held him fast, while I ended his torments with my knife.

As Slowtrap had assured me that he would be ready to make the long-expected journey in a few days, I would not delay. I skinned the deer, packed the two haunches in the skin, fed the dog, and trudged away heavily laden up and down hill to Curly’s house.

Slowtrap was not ready. It was quite out of his character to be hurried. I saw no end of his awful procrastination; yet there was nothing left for it but patience. On my arrival, he was busy making a sledge to draw wood, that his wife might have enough for several weeks; this was no trifle, considering what enormous logs were consumed in these fireplaces.

The next day was a washing-day—and a washing-day in most places, and in Arkansas in particular, is an awful thing to a man whether married or not. Curly’s young wife and sister had volunteered to assist, and to me was deputed the honor of escorting them; I buckled a blanket on the horse, and rode over, but as all three could not find room at once, I had to make two trips. All the American women are good riders. Curly’s wife jumped up lightly behind me, and held on by my belt. Away we went at a gallop through the foaming though shallow river and thick forest, to Slowtrap’s house, where having safely deposited my charge, I hastened back for the sister. I had now to think of my own safety, as it would have been foolhardiness to have remained near three women on a washing-day. Being tired from yesterday’s exertions, to take a long walk, I decided on shooting wild-fowl; so seizing S.’s long rifle with a hundred balls to the pound, I sauntered down to Porter’s Creek. The number of ducks was astounding. I lay down in a quiet shady place, and only fired when a good opportunity offered, Bearsgrease securing the prize. To be sure he frightened the others away, but only for a time; they soon returned, and by the evening I had bagged thirteen.

The two next days were wet and disagreeable. All we could do was to cut and stack wood. When the sun again shone through the clouds on the moist smoking ground, it was the 12th of December, and I went again over to Curly’s to shoot another deer before the journey, if possible. Old Collmar was there and a young man of the name of Martin, who was rather eccentric; he was about twenty-five, and had not a single hair on his head. He used to tell extraordinary stories as to the cause of his baldness, in which he frequently got confused, when he would start up, rush out of the house, and never show himself again the whole day. Sometimes when he was engaged to work, he would steal away, leaving his wages, and sometimes his clothes. We gained from him, that he had married a wooden-legged woman in Illinois, and had left her there; but he told it in such a way that we doubted its truth. He told the most absurd stories of what he had seen and experienced, and flew into the most violent passions if the least doubt was manifested. Thus passed the afternoon. When it was dark C. and I took our firepan to try our luck once more. We went southwards towards the hills, in the first instance, and then turned to the westward, the stars shining brightly; but gradually thick clouds began to appear, and some flashes of lightning were visible. We continued walking in the same direction without seeing any deer, and may have gone on about three quarters of an hour when we came to a clearing. Looking upwards to find our way by the stars, we saw, to our horror, that the whole sky was one mass of black clouds. I had now left my compass at home, the wind blew in violent gusts, and thunder in the distance kindly gave us notice that a storm was approaching.

Nothing is easier than to lose one’s way in the forest by torchlight; for the fire lights up only a few paces around, giving a peculiar appearance to the trees, and all beyond thirty yards is the blackest darkness, and all points of the compass look alike. I now recollected that when I last carried the pan (for we took it in turns), I had observed it was lightning under the north star, which was not then covered by clouds, and we concluded that the storm must have advanced towards the east. A heavy clap of thunder informed us that we had no time to lose; so we beat our retreat, keeping the lightning on the left hand. We may have been about two miles from Curly’s house; the lightning came quicker and brighter, the thunder louder, and we fled like two ghosts with our waving flame, when by one of the flashes Curly distinguished the roof of his abode; we hastened to it as fast as our legs would carry us, dashed in, and fastened the door, just as the hail came down as if it was trying to split every plank on the roof. As we looked at each other we broke into such an immoderate fit of laughter, that we could scarcely recover ourselves. The noise of our arrival, the thunder, hail, and our loud laugh awoke all the inmates. Martin’s handkerchief, which he wore at night to cover his pate, had slipped off, and his queer appearance, as he looked at us with astonishment, set us off laughing again.

Meantime the hail gave place to heavy rain; but “savage tyrants reign not long,” and presently the beauteous stars looked down quite cheerily upon us.

Storms are frequent in Arkansas, and occasionally hurricanes, which will sweep a district of a mile in width and several miles in length, levelling every thing in their path. After a time blackberries, thorns, and creepers, grow so luxuriantly over the heaps of fallen trees, as to make the thickets quite impenetrable in many places, offering a secure refuge to bears, &c.

On returning to Slowtrap’s, we began in earnest to make preparations for the long-expected, long-delayed journey. In S.’s good steel mill we ground flour enough to last the family till his return, put our knives and rifles in order, and finally started on the morning of the 19th of December.

It was a bright cold winter’s day, when, with our three dogs bounding about us, we commenced our march; Slowtrap on his nag, which carried, besides, a sack of provisions, our blankets, and my skins, while I stepped out briskly in a hunting-shirt, leggings, and moccasins, an untanned raccoon-skin-cap, and with no pack to carry. S. as he sat on his horse looked as if he must weigh at least twenty stone, his wife had heaped so many clothes on him, while my accoutrements were all of summer stuff; but the exercise prevented me from feeling cold, as we jogged along a small cart-track through the thick forest.

The first part of our journey led through marshes, but we soon reached the hills that divide the “petit Jean” from the “Fourche le Fave,” and with them, dry land. The people of Yell county had selected a spot near the “petit Jean” for a new county seat for the sessions. The infant town consisted of exactly the same number of buildings as Perryville, viz. two houses and a stable. When a town is founded in America, the streets are first marked off, by cutting away a piece of bark from the trees, and boards are nailed up at the corners with the names, such as, Main-street, Second-street, Walnut-street, Elm-street, &c., and sometimes, when in the forest, a man may find that he is in the high street of a town.

If the position of the new-born, newly-christened town be a good one, it grows incredibly fast; in the contrary case, it looks desolate enough—merchants and travellers desert it, houses are left unfinished and fall to pieces, and the court-house, as I once saw near White River, may be turned into a corn-crib.

In Danville, as the town was called, a speculative genius had established a small store, having removed from the Arkansas, about twenty miles off, with a cask of whiskey, and for whiskey or money he bought all skins he could find. He had also powder, lead, coffee, sugar, and lucifer matches; the latter article are wretchedly made in America. I exchanged all my skins for powder, lead, and coffee.

From hence, somewhat lightened, we proceeded to Spring Creek, which is thickly settled, one good farm bordering another, till we passed the water-mill, where they ceased, and we prepared for the night, which looked threatening. We halted by an overthrown pine-tree, unloaded the horse, and gave him some corn, collected firewood, and made a hut. Pine bark lay about in heaps; though worm-eaten in many places, it answered for want of better, and, used in double and treble layers, it made a very respectable sort of shed. When I thought it was finished, being rather tired, I flung myself on the ground; but my companion was not so easily satisfied; he laid on one piece of bark after another, and spread some to keep our limbs from the damp earth, and, whether I wished it or not, I must up and help till he pronounced “That’ll do.” Our simple supper was soon over; he then pulled off his shabby old coat, folded it up carefully, and laid it on his saddle as an extra pillow, spread his blanket on the pine bark with the edge to the fire, so that in lying on it, and covering himself with the other half, he might admit the warmth. After adding a few more logs to the fire, he pulled off his shoes, placing them near him with the soles upwards, that they might not fill with water in case of rain; he hung his socks under the bark roof, to keep them properly warm and dry; then laying himself carefully on his blanket, and covering himself with the other half, he was soon asleep.

I could not sleep, but lay close to the fire, which I kept stirring with a stick, making it crackle, and raising showers of sparks, which were carried by the wind far away into the dark forest, while I gave audience to my various thoughts. At length some pattering drops warned me that it was time to seek shelter in the warm shed.

The rising sun found us again on the march, and nothing remarkable occurred till evening, when we passed an old plum orchard of the Cherokees. It was an unenclosed space, several miles in circumference, thickly covered with bushes from two to six feet high, bearing small, round, very sweet plums, which ripen in August. Similar plum orchards are found in many places near the Arkansas and Mississippi.

We struck the Arkansas before dark, opposite the little town of Pittsburg, and crossed over. As our purses were in a weak condition, we did not enter the town, but lighted a fire on the river’s bank, made a shed of some planks which had been driven on shore, probably from a sunken boat, and were soon well housed. As we had marched quick, and kept in our dogs for fear of losing them, we had seen no game; our provisions were rather low, and henceforth the horse had no further weight to carry than the well-packed, goodly person of my companion, who now and then got off to give me a lift. We husbanded our stores so well, that we had something for supper and breakfast, and to feed the dogs, and laid ourselves comfortably down in our blankets.

Next day we passed along a part of the route by which some years ago a numerous body of eastern Indians, having given up their lands to the United States on condition of receiving other equally good lands in the West, were conducted by the parties who had engaged to provide for them on their journey. Numerous square holes cut in the fallen trees showed where the squaws had pounded their maize to make bread. More melancholy traces were visible in the bones of human beings and animals which were strewed about. Many a warrior and squaw died on the road from exhaustion, and the maladies engendered by their treatment; and their relations and friends could do nothing more for them than fold them in their blankets, and cover them with boughs and bushes, to keep off the vultures, which followed their route by thousands, and soared over their heads; for their drivers would not give them time to dig a grave and bury their dead. The wolves, which also followed at no great distance, soon tore away so frail a covering, and scattered the bones in all directions. This is a sad instance of the abominable haggling spirit so prevalent in America. The government, to avoid trouble, had contracted with individuals for a certain sum, which was quite sufficient to have conveyed the poor Indians comfortably; but they were obliged to part with all they had for bread, selling their rifles and tomahawks, horses going for two and three dollars; and, while they died of hunger and distress, the contractors made a fortune.

About three in the afternoon we reached the Ozark mountains, and passed close by some farm buildings where there were several tame white turkeys. My dog, who was a capital fellow for turkeys, had as yet never seen any but wild, consequently black ones. He gave a side glance or two at them, and then passed on without further notice, until one crossed the road, and he came on the fresh trail, which he followed on the instant; but when he got close to the white bird, he kept first looking at the one, and then smelling at the other, as much as to say, “They don’t agree,” while the turkey walked off with long strides, turning his head from side to side to examine the stranger who was so close at his heels, and whose intentions he rather seemed to doubt. I called off the dog, and we stepped out at a good pace up a narrow ravine by the banks of a mountain stream. Narrow as the ravine was, we found houses in places where no one, at least no reasonable being, could ever have supposed they would have been erected, there being so little arable land near. One place particularly amused me—a turnip field, about sixty paces square, from one corner of which I saw smoke rising. As there was no trace of a building or of a human being to be seen, I was anxious to discover where the smoke came from, and on reaching the corner of the field, I found myself looking straight down a chimney. The house was built in a little hollow in the rock, probably to avoid encroaching on any part of the useful ground. But what could induce people to settle in such a hole, when so much good land was to be had in Arkansas, was more than I could divine.

We now turned to the left, and crossed the first spur towards the summit of the hills that divide the Mulberry from the Arkansas. The ascent was rather steep, but we surmounted it without mishap, and were rewarded with a beautiful view over the country we had passed. While I was seated on a high piece of rock, contemplating the prospect, Slowtrap rolled a large stone to the edge of the declivity; then pushing it over, he set the dogs after it—these hearing the noise, flew in wild haste down the steep. The stone at first moved slowly, but as it gathered way in its descent, it made bounds of twenty and thirty feet, broke off young trees, and went thundering to the bottom in clouds of dust, the dogs still in chase. I did not much like it, fearing they might break their legs or necks. Bearsgrease came back first, crouching and wagging his tail, as if he knew that he had committed an egregious folly. The others returned later, puffing and snorting. S. seemed to have been much amused: he sat comfortably on a rock, with his bridle on his left arm, and looked on without moving a muscle of his countenance.

We had a long march before us. It was ten miles to the nearest house, and we had nothing eatable left, either for ourselves or the horse; it was moreover getting dark. S. said we must keep on the hill for six or seven miles, and then turn down towards the Mulberry to the house.

It grew darker and darker. A narrow unfrequented footpath covered with yellow leaves was our only guide, which I followed up with undivided attention, Slowtrap riding slowly after me. A thin penetrating rain set in with the night; yet, indefatigably, and with my nose nearly on the ground, I kept to the almost invisible path, till about ten o’clock, when I stopped, and told Slowtrap that either the path ended here, or I had missed it; which of the two was the case I could not say. Slowtrap, who had followed patiently without speaking a word, asked if I thought I could find the trail again on retracing my steps. The weather was not favorable for conversation; I shouldered my rifle, went some way back, made a circle, and found a strip of darker ground amongst the leaves. I called out, and my companion came, leading his horse, and said that I might ride, and he would follow up the path, as his eyes were more accustomed to forest work than mine. Tired with the long day’s march, I was not sorry for this, and was soon in the saddle, while Slowtrap, stooping low, preceded me about two hundred paces; but he came to a stand where I had stopped, and said the path ended there. We could not be far from the descent to the Mulberry, for the trees were thinner, and Slowtrap said that if it were not so dark, we might be able to see the whole of its valley. At present nothing was to be seen but our miserable plight.

It is dangerous to lose one’s way in these hills, as precipices occur where least suspected. The rain now fell in torrents, and we were as wet as drowned rats. At length we decided on descending the hill straight before us, lead where it would. It was steep and slippery, and although we led the horse, we were often in danger of falling into one of the steep ravines; we passed so near one that we heard the stones fall to the bottom as they were kicked away by the horse’s feet.

It may have been about eleven o’clock when the dogs gave the first signs of life, by a growl and a low bark. Then the oldest of them, a good old fellow, covered with honorable scars, gave a short howl. It was answered by several dogs in the distance; this inspired us with fresh courage, and we hastened down the hill towards the sound. When the strange dogs left off barking, we easily excited them again by imitating the howl of a wolf. We gained at once the foot of the hill and a mountain stream, and came to a small house, from whence we had heard the bark of the dogs. We entered and obtained shelter, but no hearty welcome.

Next morning, as we were not very well pleased with our host, who did not care about us, and fearing that the rivers we had to cross might swell with rain—an event which soon occurs in the mountains—we left at daylight, and proceeded to a farmer’s, named Davis, about half a mile off on the other side of the river; here we were received kindly and hospitably.

Mr. Davis would by no means allow us to proceed, as it had poured with rain the whole night, and all the brooks were rushing torrents; so, taking charge of our things, he made us sit by the fire, and seemed highly gratified at the pleasure its warmth afforded us. His family were very agreeable, and I was quite sorry to part with them so soon as the next morning; but by that time the waters fell, and Slowtrap was in a hurry to get on. However, it was hard work to get through some of the rivers, especially as we had but one horse. Luckily my companion knew the country too well to expose us to the chance of sleeping again in the forest, and this evening, wet, tired, and half frozen, we arrived at the abode of an old squatter.

This day we had crossed the main range of the “Boston divide,” which parts the waters of the Mulberry from the White river, and found ourselves on the latter, which, here, we could leap across, though further down it is navigated by steamers. The country and vegetation differed considerably from that south of the Arkansas. There was no trace of fir; the mountains were covered with oak, beech, and hickory, all at this season without leaves, which, to an eye accustomed to green hollows, seemed rather mournful and monotonous. It struck me as extraordinary that the best and most fertile land was on the hill tops, where, in other places it is generally the worst; here grew black walnut, wild cherry, with stems sometimes twenty inches in diameter, black locust, and sugar maple, trees which generally grow only in the richest soils. The black locust was very frequent, and its long sharp thorns are by no means pleasant on a journey.

About noon we passed a log house, at the door of which stood a fat red-haired man. When we had passed, Slowtrap told me that, four years ago, that man had bought a clock; and after he had had it two days, he doubted whether all was right inside; so he took it to pieces, and when satisfied, put it together again, and people said that when he had done so, he had wheels enough left for another clock.

It was Christmas eve, and growing dark. My heart sunk as I remembered former joys of this season, and thought of my present loneliness. Strange! that recollections should be so sweet and yet so bitter.

In good time we arrived at old Conwell’s, Slowtrap’s father-in-law. He lived in a block-house, surrounded by mountains covered with trees, close to the bank of the White river, which was narrow enough to be bridged by a tree. The family were assembled round the fire; Conwell himself was absent. A matron of pleasing appearance rose from her seat on the entrance of her son-in-law, and cordially shook his hand, while two fine boys of eleven and eight jumped up to welcome him; another person in the room, a young graceful girl, who at first kept modestly in the background, then came forward to greet her brother-in-law, who addressed her as Sophy; neither was the stranger overlooked, but received a hearty welcome from all. I, who, a few minutes before, had felt so deserted and miserable, now experienced a silent joy, as I looked on the amiable, honorable countenance of the mother, the mild expression of the daughter, and the open, happy faces of the two boys. It was as if I had found new relations, and was once again at home. Never in my life had I felt, from the first moment, so completely domesticated as with these people.

In about half an hour old Conwell came in: if ever uprightness was stamped upon any countenance, it was upon his; his hair was white as snow, but his step was as springy as he moved about in his hunting-shirt, leggins, moccasins, and bare neck, as if he had seen but twenty years. After we had been seated about an hour, it seemed as if I had known him from childhood, and the evening flew past with incredible swiftness.

The cold was very sharp on Christmas-day, and we were delighting in a glorious fire, when John, the youngest boy, ran in, and said there was a large gang of turkeys in the corn. I seized my rifle, called Bearsgrease, and was soon in the field. No sooner had the dog found the scent, than he was amongst them, and they flew to the neighboring trees. I knocked over one, loaded, and tried for another, leaving Bearsgrease to watch the prize, as several pigs were near us. Not being able to get another shot, I returned to the dog, and found him with his paws full of business. Another larger dog had come to have a smell at the turkey; Bearsgrease, mistaking his intentions and my instructions, attacked the stranger, threw him over, and held him fast, with the fiercest countenance in the world; but when he saw me coming he began to wag his tail, being thus, like Janus, severe in front and amicable behind. I released the stranger from his disagreeable position, and patted and soothed Bearsgrease to express my approbation and satisfaction at his good behavior; but he continued to give an occasional growl and scowl at the other dog.

I amused myself for a couple of days with turkey shooting, leaving Slowtrap time to arrange his affairs, when he informed me that he had concluded his business quicker than he had expected, and now meant to return home. This was disagreeable to me for two reasons—first, because he was a very pleasant companion; and, secondly, because he was so well acquainted with the mountains. However, there was no persuading him to remain, and he fixed on the following morning for his departure.

In the afternoon, as the sun was bright and warm, we formed a merry party in front of the house; but S. who never could bear lying or sitting on the cold ground, sat himself on the fence, which was about five feet high, and told us some of his humorous stories with his usual gravity. Meantime several cows had assembled on the other side of the fence. It has already been said that S. wore a shabby old coat, whereof the tails hung low outside the fence. In the morning he had been walking about the hills, and had been very hot; and his pocket-handkerchief, moist with perspiration, was in one of his pockets. It is well known that cows are fond of salt and saline substances, and they had probably divined that something of the sort was in one of those pockets. One, rather bolder than the rest, had quietly approached, taken the flap in her mouth, and was contentedly chewing it. I had observed the whole proceeding with great amusement; but fearing that his coat was in danger of being reduced to a state of pulp, I called out to him to look behind. He looked round, beheld the cow chewing his coat-tails with the greatest placidity, and raised one of his long arms to drive her away. The cow, frightened at the long arm, made a retreat; but unluckily one of the buttons caught between her teeth, and she gave a sudden wrench to poor Slowtrap, who was nicely balanced at the top of the fence; in a moment his legs rose in the air, like the two chimneys of a steamer, and then his body tumbled to the ground. What happened afterwards, no one could tell, as we all followed his example, in a convulsion of laughter.

On the 28th December my old companion mounted his steed, and shaking hands with his relations and me, was soon out of sight in the forest. I prepared for the mountains, and Conwell said he would willingly go with me, but that he had business for some days; I answered, that I would go first, not to be a burden to him, at which he was much vexed, and requested me not to go without him, concluding his kind invitation to remain in his house, by saying that I was “as welcome as the flowers in May.” I could not withstand this, and remained with much pleasure. He rode away the same day, and returned on the following evening. In the afternoon it came on to snow, and continued till late at night, so that we expected glorious weather for shooting; but our joy did not last long, for it soon became warm again. Nevertheless we got every thing in readiness, mended moccasins, cast balls, sharpened knives, and, on the 30th, we proceeded to the Pilot rock, at the source of the Hurricane. After crossing the Boston divide, we stopped on the slope, where we found a spring of delicious water, and “struck camp.” The night was clear and cold, but the heat of the day had spoiled all the beautiful snow. Stretched before the fire, we rested our weary limbs after the exertions of the day, and were soon sound asleep, with our dogs beside us.

As we were not yet on our intended ground, we rose early, descended the mountain, crossed the Hurricane, and fixed upon a spot for our night’s camp, where we left Conwell’s horse, with our blankets, and provisions. Here we separated to mount the hill on different routes. The Hurricane is a mountain stream, taking its name from a hurricane which raged near its mouth some time ago, leaving traces that are still visible. It runs into the Mulberry, and flows with it into the Arkansas.

Conwell went to the left, I to the right; the hill was in places so steep, that I was obliged to lift the dog up before me. At length I gained a flat terrace. The terrace formation is characteristic of these mountains; seen from below they do not appear very high, because only the top of the next division is visible; but when one is surmounted, another and another arises, and people maintain that when you come to the highest there is always one more.

The terrace on which I found myself was about one hundred and eighty paces wide. Advancing cautiously towards the middle, keeping a sharp look-out, I perceived a doe quietly grazing, and coming towards me. I whistled, she stopped, bounded upwards with the shot, ran about fifty paces towards me, and fell dead. She was in excellent condition—I hung her up, and went on. At the end of the terrace, where a spring dashed down the rock, I observed signs of a bear; he had turned over several stones to find worms, and had bitten off some of the bushes to make a bed; seeing nothing more, I returned to the camp, to have the help of my companion to follow up the trail next day, taking half the doe on my shoulders as I went along. I found Conwell occupied with a very fat turkey.

Tired with all the climbing, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets, and threw ourselves down for a nap; but the sun setting, and wind getting colder and sharper, did not allow us much repose, but warned us to make a fire, and a good fire too, for the night. Wood was abundant, and we had only to move a few steps for as much as we wanted. The sun had hardly disappeared behind the trees on the western mountains, when it became dark in our ravine; the twilight did not last more than ten minutes. It was the last day of the year. In my native land, many a happy pair were forgetting past pains and sorrows in the tumult of the dance in lighted halls; while I was stretched under the starry skies beside a crackling fire in the forest, my trusty rifle and faithful dog by my side. I had no mind for dancing or music; for seven months I had not heard from home, and seemed to have got wedged in among the mountains, with the world closed behind me, all retreat cut off, and nothing left but to advance: and yet the future offered no inviting picture; alone, in the endless wilderness, I stood, with hair turning gray—a solitary hunter, leaning on my rifle, separated from all I loved.

Old Hawkeye, must have had many a sorrowful hour.

Meantime, my companion, leaning on his elbow, was gazing on the fire, and lost in recollections of the past; but his past must have been a happy one, for he often smiled to himself. He had lived an active life, and looked forward to a happy old age, in the circle of an amiable family, in the vicinity of his married children, in the enjoyment of health and strength. Wherefore should he be unhappy?

I stood up to change the current of my thoughts, poked at the fire, laid the logs together, which were burnt through the middle, and reposed again on my blanket. Conwell told me he was sixty-two years old to-day, 31st of December, 1841; and yet he was so strong and active that I had to exert myself to keep up with him. He spoke of his past life; how he had continually preceded civilization, first in Carolina, then in Kentucky, Tennessee, Missouri, and now in the Ozark mountains, and he complained that people were gathering too thick about him, and said he felt a strong inclination to make another move. He mentioned how fortunate and happy he was in his family. He spoke of his children, and as I listened to him my troubled thoughts were soothed; it was as if one of my own family was speaking. Thus passed our evening till sleep weighed down our eyelids, and wrapped in our blankets past and future were forgotten.

Next morning, as the tips of the western mountains were lighted up with the first rays of the rising sun, we woke from our lairs, shook off the wreaths of frost, and joyfully inhaled the fresh morning air; it was bitter cold, the water in our tin cups was all frozen, as was the meat, but a breakfast fit for a prince was soon smoking before us—juicy venison, fat turkey, good strong coffee, and maize bread. Where was the hotel that could afford fare as good? but man is fated never to be satisfied—my companion sighed for bear.

Before breakfast was quite ready I went to the creek which flowed at a few paces from our camp, to have a good wash, and finding a hole with deep water as clear as crystal, I threw off my clothes, and plunged under the cool element. It was a delicious treat, and I did not feel the cold till I got out; but I was soon by the fire, and by the time I had my clothes on I felt such an animating glow, and such strength that I could almost have torn an oak up by the roots. Old C. looked on smiling, but thought it too cold to plunge in, and contented himself with washing face, breast, hands, and feet. Thus refreshed, we sat down to breakfast; turkey, venison, coffee, and bread disappeared with terrific rapidity; even Bearsgrease appeared surprised sitting with his mouth wide open, though Conwell maintained that he held it open more conveniently to catch the morsels I threw to him from time to time; perhaps he was right.

After these trifles, half a turkey, and the greater part of a haunch of venison had been safely disposed of to the general satisfaction, we set off to look for the bear, tokens of whose whereabout I had seen the day before. On arriving at the place, the dogs showed signs of excitement, and running down the steep they soon began to give tongue. We followed as fast as we could, and came to a large detached rock, behind which a cave ran into the mountain. Several marks showed that the bear was at home; the dogs barked furiously, and I laid aside my rifle and pouch, and was about to enter the cave with my drawn knife, when Bruin began to suspect mischief. He was right opposite the entrance, but a slight bend in the cave, which was only eight feet deep, prevented our seeing him. He would not have cared much for the dogs, but as I approached the wind was behind me; the moment he discovered me he began snorting and growling, and made a rush which nearly upset me, although I sprang on one side. Conwell, who had seen many such affairs, coolly stood at the entrance with his rifle cocked, watching my proceedings. The report of the rifle was heard before I and the dogs had recovered our composure after the rush; the bear seemed to be determined that nothing should stop him, and disappeared in a gorge; but the dogs, roused by the shot were soon on his traces. The old man laughed heartily as he saw me standing knife in hand quite disconcerted at the mouth of the cave, and regretted that he had not been able to give all his attention to my admirable jump, as he was obliged to look after the beast.

We followed the dogs, and on examining a rock which the bear had crossed, we found drops of dark blood, and were tolerably sure of him. Weakened with loss of blood, he had not run far before the dogs came up with him. As they were both young and untrained to bears, he had not much trouble in keeping them off, but they answered our purpose in stopping him. I came up just as he had shaken off the dogs, and was climbing a steep bluff. I fired and struck his right paw, and as he fell the dogs seized him again; my companion now arrived, and coolly taking aim, sent a ball through his heart. He was a fat two-year-old, and promised a delicate repast; we decided on taking him home. So while C. skinned and cut him up, I returned to the camp to fetch the horse with our blankets and game, and as I rode past I brought away the other half of the doe, which was too good to leave behind. As the day was now far advanced, and the horse had about 200 lbs. to carry, we resolved to camp for the night near the first spring we came to.

As we crossed a flat on the top of a mountain we heard a horrible noise from a large gang of turkeys, a sure sign of bad weather. Conwell sprang from his horse, and we ran towards the sound. When near enough I cheered on the dog, and in an instant the whole forest was alive with turkeys. A great big fellow flapped into a tree about sixty yards in front of me, and fell to the ground with a ball from my rifle. While loading, I observed Conwell going about with his rifle at his cheek, carefully watching all the long necks; then he stopped, took aim, and fired. But the turkey only reeled on the bough, and recovered himself. As soon as I was loaded I knocked over a second, and by this time the greater part of the gang had made off; but the one Conwell had hit sat still, badly wounded, with the blood dropping fast. Conwell had now loaded again, and shot him through the head. On my asking why he had not selected another, as he was sure of this one, he answered, that this was the fattest and heaviest of the whole gang; and he was right. Mine were both large birds, but his weighed more by three pounds. He laughed, and said he had not looked out for the best in vain, and told me, “when the turkeys are all sitting on the trees, frightened at the dogs, there is no occasion to be in a hurry to shoot the first that comes—a good sportsman should choose the best, which is easily done; a short thick neck is the infallible sign. The leaner the turkey, the longer and thinner his neck. The bird seems larger, but take care to shoot the thick-necks, and I’ll wager that they ain’t so bad to eat.” Long experience has since taught me that he was right, but it required some time before I was cool enough to look at the turkeys on their perch, and make a choice amongst them. We opened them on the spot; for it is extraordinary how soon they spoil, even in cold weather, if this is not done. We threw two of them over the horse, while I shouldered the third; and in a very short time we came to a spring of good water, and made a camp for the night.

One of the results of our camping out, with supper and breakfast, was the disappearance of one of the turkeys and half the bear’s ribs. With strength well recruited we set off for the dwelling of my old friend, and reached it about two in the afternoon. It was dark by the time when the skins were stretched and the meat salted, when we sat round the fire and talked over old times.

We were tired and went betimes to bed, intending to sally forth early next morning; but the rain poured down the whole night, and we had forgotten to take our blankets in from the fence, so that, it may be supposed, they were rather damp; however, we were not vexed. We had plenty of provisions; a little repose would not hurt us, especially as we were looking forward to fresh adventures.

We made ourselves comfortable, provided wood, and had placed ourselves in a half circle round the fire, when little John ran in and told us that he was just come from a neighbor’s, who had sent out his negro to count the little pigs, which a sow was bringing with her out of the forest. After a little while he came in, and said gravely, that he had counted nineteen, but that one had run about so, that he could not count him. Conwell now commenced a story of his early days, in the following words:—“About forty years ago my parents moved into the Cumberland mountains; and as the land was good and fertile, and game plentiful, a little settlement was soon made. We were very comfortable, grew as much Indian corn as we wanted, had plenty of venison, bear, and wild honey, and we could always procure powder, coffee, and whatever else we wanted in exchange for our bears’ fat, skins, &c.; so that every one would have allowed that we could not be better off, but for one circumstance that embittered our existence and exposed us to numberless dangers. There was a tribe of Tuskarora Indians in our vicinity, who had been driven out of the north, probably by the French, and who plundered and murdered whenever they found an opportunity. Amongst other things, they had stolen a number of horses, and that so cunningly, that for a long time they eluded all our efforts to trace them. The mountains ended in a bluff several miles long, and from twenty to thirty feet high, so steep that no bear, let alone a horse, could have descended it. As soon as a horse was missed, those who went to seek him examined each end of the cliff, without ever finding any traces of the animal. I was then about twenty-two years old, and one day I was out with my dog,—and such a dog I have never seen since. Old Beef here is a good fellow, but that one had a cross of a bull in him; well, we came on the trail of a fat bear—for fat he was—of that I had infallible signs; in the first place, because he had crossed a sandy bed of a small stream where his footsteps were deeply impressed, showing the balls round and full; secondly, I found that he had not eaten the acorns with their cups, but had taken the trouble to separate them. I fancied he could not be far off, and followed up the trail, which led towards the bluff; at about two hundred yards from it, he had entered the stony bed of a brook. I kept close up with the dog, making as little noise as possible, and only taking my eye off the trail when a turn or higher ground gave me a chance of seeing the beast. As I proceeded I was astonished to find traces of horses leading towards the bluff. Two capital horses had been stolen from us a few nights before, and we had looked everywhere for traces of them, without success; of course, no one thought of looking on the edge of the cliff.

“My previous astonishment was nothing to what I experienced, when I came to the place, where, after heavy rain, the brook falls over the cliff, but which in dry weather does not contain a drop of water, and found, where the depth might be about twenty feet, two fir-trees, rounded, and placed standing against the rock, just so far apart that a horse might slide down them, but could not fall through; that this was the use they had been put to was evident from the marks of the struggles of the horses, before they were launched, and from patches of horsehair sticking to the poles. That the bear had descended by these means was clear from the marks of his claws in the wood.

“It would not have done for the dog;—besides the discovery was too important for delay, and I hastened home to give information. We had not long to wait to turn it to account. The Indians, who had stolen a couple of horses a few nights before, returned for some more the same evening. Luckily, our watchmen gave the alarm in time, and they had hardly made off with their booty, when we started by a nearer road, as they were obliged to choose the most stony paths, in order to leave as few traces as possible, and thus made a long circuit.

“About nine in the morning we arrived opposite the fir-trees, and hid ourselves in the trees and behind rocks to await the redskins. About noon we began to think that they must have discovered our trail, and would not appear; but we resolved to wait till dark. We were fifteen in all, and decided not to fire till every man was sure of his mark; and, with beating hearts, we listened for the slightest sounds. We had almost given up the hopes of seeing them, when a single warrior appeared, in his blanket dress, and descended the cliff. He was sent to reconnoitre, and had not the slightest suspicion of danger; for he passed close before my uncle Ben, who, not able to resist the temptation, or fancying that he was discovered, I know not which, contrary to his usual caution, fired. The savage leaped high in the air, and fell on his face without a groan.

“Now, whether the Indians thought that their spy had shot something, or whether they thought themselves strong enough to disregard a single man, whom chance might have brought to the spot, in less than five minutes the whole troop were on the edge of the bluff, about eighty paces from our hiding-place. They had with them only the four horses which they had lately stolen, and as we well knew that it would be vain to seek them if once their suspicions were roused, we took aim in silence. The party consisted of nine men, four of them on horseback; we might easily have killed them all, but were too eager to recover the horses; so it happened that all aimed at the riders. I had not been in quite such a hurry, and when the others turned to fly I aimed at one just as he was entering the thicket; he gave a spring and threw off his blanket; I saw the blood spurt out, but he was soon out of sight, and as I could not find his body, I think he must have escaped.

“We took the arms and dresses of the slain, bound them on the horses, left the corpses to the wolves and vultures, and entered the settlement in triumph the same evening. It was long before we saw any thing more of the Tuskaroras, who withdrew in alarm towards Lake Ontario.”

By this time dinner was ready, and after dinner we took a siesta; then, what with reading and conversation, it was evening before we were aware. I was now asked to give information about the old world, and to tell them whether kings would take off people’s heads when they chose—and how houses were built when there was so little wood—and what people did in the winter. They were much astonished when I mentioned that we did not grow Indian corn, nor let the cattle run wild; but when I said that we sometimes planted trees, the children shook their heads, and even the old ones thought that I was practising on their credulity; they also wanted to know if kings and queens always wore their crowns, and if they walked about with their sceptres, and what the nobility looked like.

Next morning, starting with the rising sun, we took a direction towards the Richland and War-eagle, two streams which flow into the White river. We took no provisions with us, but rode out with only the blankets on the horses, as Conwell supposed we should find plenty of game. On arriving on our ground, we turned the horses loose, who bent their steps homewards, grazing as they went. We took different courses, agreeing to return in the evening to the place where our blankets were hanging up. I walked cautiously and slowly, but saw nothing of either deer or turkey; once I heard the report of C.’s rifle. When I returned to the camp I made a good fire, spread my blanket, placed my rifle in readiness, and laid me down to rest. About sunset I heard a light step; at first I thought it was a deer—it was Conwell, without game or dog. He sat down by my side on the blanket, and observing that he supposed I must be very hungry, he gave a faint smile, and said that he could fast until tomorrow evening. He might well laugh. He said his dog was after a deer which he had shot, and, judging from the marks, he must have been hit in the fleshy part of the haunch; the dog, being young, could not be called off after once catching the scent, and dog and deer were soon out of sight.

While he was talking, Bearsgrease rose up and snuffed the air; Conwell thought it must be his dog who had found his trail. As I supposed so too I took no notice, until I thought I heard a short bark, and Bearsgrease, growling lightly, gave me a significant look. I jumped up with my rifle, and in a minute a noble buck, with horns laid back, rushed by at full speed, at about twenty paces from the camp. I sent a ball into him, and my dog was instantly close on his heels. He did not run far; my ball had broken the left leg, and passed through the right. After running about 200 paces, he sprang into the Richland, on whose banks we were encamped, and seemed resolved to sell his life as dearly as possible. The dogs were upon him, but, as they were forced to swim, while he touched the bottom, he had not much difficulty in shaking them off again. Conwell remained lying as if it were no concern of his, so I seized his rifle, ran to the bank, ended the poor animal’s torments with a ball through his brain, and plunged into the water to pull him out. Now we had meat in plenty; the skin and haunches were hung up, the ribs roasted, and the dogs fed before dark.

We slept well all night, and were up early, but the leaves were so dry that we found nothing but one turkey, which Conwell knocked over. However, the sky began to get cloudy, and as we had meat for the present, our hopes rose. It came on to blow from the north, but we were protected by a bank of about ten feet high, and though we could not sit close to it on account of sharp stones, yet it kept off some of the cold wind, and a glorious fire soon made us forget it.

Supper was over, and Conwell had taken off one of his moccasins to take a stone out, when he said that it reminded him of something that had happened to him a long time ago when he was a child. I was already covered up in my blanket, but finding that he had a mind to talk, I roused up, gave the fire a poke that made the sparks fly, and leaning back, with Bearsgrease for a pillow, who seemed well pleased with the arrangement, I awaited the commencement of his narrative.

When I got up, Conwell stopped; but now passing his hand over his face, he began:—

“I was between five and six years old when my father made my first pair of moccasins, for he was a very good shoemaker, and had always made strong shoes for children, though he himself always wore moccasins; but, at my earnest, repeated request, he made a pair for me, and warned me particularly not to lose them. On this same day a peddler had been in the house, and had persuaded my father to buy a pair of large boots, as very serviceable for bad weather;—and as it had rained a great deal lately, he put them on, took his rifle, and sallied forth to the forest. He was hardly gone when I wished to wear my new moccasins; and, to my horror, found that one was missing. In vain I searched the house from top to bottom; it was gone, and the other seemed to be there only to remind me of my loss, and the punishment awaiting me. With a beating heart I saw my father return earlier than I had expected, out of humor with the bad weather and bad sport; and he asked roughly, why I was running about barefoot. With tears in my eyes I told him that I could not find one of the moccasins, and that I thought the cat must have run off with it. He said he would cat me, and that if I did not find the other before night I should suffer for it. With a sorrowful heart I recommenced my search, and all my brothers helped me. Meantime my father had sat himself by the fire, and complained that something in his boot had plagued him the whole day; so, pulling it off, and feeling inside, what should he find but my much-bemoaned moccasin. It is easier to imagine my delight than to express it.”

Conwell rolled himself in his blanket and fell asleep, still smiling at the recollection. I could not sleep; his story had recalled events of my own childhood, and I kept gazing at the strange and changing figures in the fire. Bearsgrease was lying close to me, with his head on my shoulder; he had raised it several times, and snuffed the air, and again lain down. At length he roused up and gave a slight growl. I thought I heard something, and looking up to the bank behind me, I was astonished to find two glowing eyeballs steadily fixed upon me. My head being between the fire and the animal, I could see them plainly just above the bank. It must be a panther, and, judging from the position, ready to spring. My rifle, as usual, lay ready; so, half raising myself, that I might have the fire in a line with the two sights, I aimed between the two fiery balls, and the rocks reËchoed the report.

Old Conwell was up like lightning with his rifle ready, and the dogs hunted about while I reloaded, but all was as silent as the grave. The old fellow shook his head, and asked what on earth I had been firing at. I finished loading without a word, then taking a brand from the fire and going about twenty paces to a slope in the bank, I mounted, and found an immense panther, quite dead. I threw him over, and C. dragged him to the fire; the ball had pierced his brain through the right eye. He was a very powerful beast, had enormous fangs, and when we cut him open, his stomach was found quite empty. He must have been attracted to the fire by hunger, and C. thought he might have smelt the venison; he would probably have ventured a spring as soon as the fire had burnt low; the dogs could not scent him, as he was so much above us. After skinning him we threw the carcass into the river below the camp, as the dogs would not touch it. We slept the rest of the night undisturbed.

A light rain fell next morning, which, in about an hour, moistened the dead leaves sufficiently for us to walk without making a noise; so I made haste to stretch the panther’s skin, and we set off, each as before taking a separate path. Before I had gone half a mile I saw two deer grazing; just at this moment Conwell’s gun was heard at some distance, and they both raised their heads and listened attentively, but perceiving nothing suspicious, they began to feed again. They were a doe and a year-old fawn, and when they were in a line I fired; the doe, which was nearest, fell at once, and the fawn after running about fifty yards. They were very fat, and I hung them up.

In hanging up deer it is necessary to take precautions against the vultures, which are a great annoyance to sportsmen. The best way of securing the deer, whose skin they would ruin with their beaks, is to hang them up by their heads, so that the vultures may have no point of support, and must content themselves with pecking at the skull. There is also a large crow, which tries to steal the fat; but they may be kept off by placing two peeled sticks crosswise on the deer—for the crows will not venture their heads between two such suspicious-looking objects.

Continuing my march, I came to the bank of a stream running into the Richland, when I saw a wolf spring out of a thicket on the opposite side, about eighty paces off; he ran about fifty yards and then stopped, but not long enough for me to take aim; finally he disappeared among some rocks. I crossed over to the thicket to see how Bearsgrease would take the scent of a wolf; all his hairs bristled up the moment he came to the yet warm lair.

Late in the afternoon, on my way to the camp, I struck a fresh bear’s trail, and followed it up, though it led me out of my way. Meantime it began to rain harder, and coming to a broad stream, which the bear had crossed, my dog lost the trail. As it was too late to return to the camp, I considered myself lucky in finding a cave, two feet deep in leaves driven in by the wind. Without making a fire, which would have been dangerous, I crept in, taking Bearsgrease for a pillow, who was much pleased thereby, and, spite of wet clothes, I slept well till morning, covered up with the leaves.

The morning was cold and wet, my clothes were still damp from yesterday’s rain, and I was as hungry as a lion; so altogether I did not feel quite so comfortable as I could wish. But walking quick to warm myself, in about an hour’s time I reached the place where I had left the two deer, hung the fawn over my shoulders, and not long after gained the camp.

The fire was burning bright which C. had only lately left, and it was no small quantity of venison that I put down to roast. Having appeased my appetite, and fed Bearsgrease, I laid down again to rest. After an hour’s time, as C. did not return, I set off again; it was still very cold. As I was passing a small ravine I saw a young buck feeding, without the slightest suspicion of danger. As I was within distance, I aimed and fired; he fell as if shot through the brain, but my ball had struck too high, so that at the moment when I came up to seize him he recovered himself, and rose on his forelegs. I saw on the instant that there was no time to lose, and threw myself upon him. The dog had also seized him, and I was in the act of drawing my knife to plunge in his throat, when he made a sudden effort, and we all three tumbled down a declivity of nine or ten feet. In falling I had dropped my knife, which fell among the stones, and I felt much pain in my head and left side; but neither I nor Bearsgrease had let go our hold. The poor animal made most desperate efforts to escape, and with our greatest exertions it was hardly possible for us to hold him. Without a knife there was but one method of securing him; a cruel one, indeed, but if I had to bite his neck through with my teeth I would not let him go. I threw him over on his side, and smashed his forelegs with a sharp stone. Thus crippled, Bearsgrease could hold him; I jumped up, found my knife, and ended the poor creature’s torments.

I succeeded in slinging it with a great deal of trouble, my left side paining me exceedingly; however I managed to climb up the steep, recovered and loaded my rifle, and hobbled towards the camp, intending to remain quiet the rest of the day.

I found my old friend awaiting me. He had killed four bucks, and brought away their haunches, the rest not being good eating at this season. We settled to shoot towards the house next day, and then to take horses to carry home the game we had shot.

On our way homewards we only killed three turkeys. We caught the horses the same evening, and once more reposed our weary limbs among my old friend’s family circle.

At midnight it began to rain, and towards morning it poured in torrents. The game was not to be thought of, and we sat round the fire amusing ourselves with

old stories and anecdotes. As we were talking of the prairies, Conwell told us one of his adventures after buffaloes.

“Not many years ago, when I lived in the Kickapoo prairie, in Missouri, four of us set out one morning to shoot buffaloes. It was bitter cold, and we rode rapidly over the frozen ground. On gaining an elevation, we descried a herd in the distance, and made towards them. When about half a mile from them they discovered us, and ran off, we after them helter-skelter. The hindmost was a cow, too fat to keep up with the others, so we all singled her out for our mark. After galloping for about a mile, she received all our balls, and fell, when we secured her. The wind was now blowing from the north-west, almost cold enough to freeze the marrow in our bones, and the dry buffalo dung, the only fuel in the prairies, made but a poor fire. The nearest wood was about a mile from the place where the cow fell, and a debate arose whether we should fetch the wood to the buffalo, or carry the buffalo to the wood. We thought the latter easier. One of the party, named Turner, began to strip off the skin; we offered to help him, but he would not permit it; so, willingly leaving the cold work to him, we made as good a fire as we could for him to warm his hands by. When the skin was off, we cut off the prime pieces, took the marrow-bones, packed them in the skin, threw them over a horse, and brought them to the nearest wood, where we luckily found water. Our four tomahawks soon cut wood enough, and we made a roaring fire; when it was burnt to charcoal we stuck in the marrow-bones, first one end, then the other; and certainly there is no more delicate eating for the backwoodsman than buffalo marrow, except bear’s ribs, and wild honey. The meat was rather tough, and nothing particular.

“It was now getting dark, and we began to prepare our camp. One of the party proposed, instead of each rolling himself separately in his blanket, that we should spread the skin, which was large enough to hold us all, and then lay all the blankets over us. But Turner objected, and maintained that as he had skinned the cow alone, he alone would sleep in it. It was all the same to us; we all had good blankets, and could make ourselves comfortable by the fire, which we closely surrounded, while Turner wrapped himself in his heavy skin, with the hairy side inwards;—and we were all soon asleep.

“The weather was extremely cold, and we were obliged to get up several times in the course of the night, to lay on fresh wood, though Turner never moved out of his warm skin. Towards morning the wind changed to north-east, and the sky threatening a snow-storm, we decided on returning home as soon as possible, to avoid the approaching storm, or at any rate to get better shelter than the open prairie afforded. So we swallowed our breakfasts quickly, and saddled the horses, which had been feeding on the dry grass, and now approached as close as they could to the fire. We called Turner several times to make him get up, but a slight motion of the hide was the only answer. At length, a half smothered cry for help issued from the skin. We rushed to Turner in alarm, fearing something serious, but burst into a roar of laughter, on finding that he was frozen in, and could not move a limb. We rolled him to the fire, to thaw the skin, and set him free; the rolling and the heat made him feel rather giddy, but a hot marrow-bone restored him;—and then loading the horses with the softened skin, and the remainder of the meat, we reached home before the storm, which came on that evening with tremendous force.”

The weather continued gloomy enough, the clouds hanging about the trees, as if they were seeking shelter from the wind, which was driving them from the rocky mountains. All the cattle collected near the house, with their tails to the wind, and pendant ears, looking very wretched. Luckily I found a few books,—such as “A Dialogue of Devils,” “The Life of Marion,” “The Life of Washington,” “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” “The United States’ Reader,” &c., and killed some of the time by turning over their leaves.

The rain lasted till the 12th January. The various streams had become cataracts and rivers, so we were obliged to remain at home two days longer. Meantime our store of meat had fallen very low, and there appeared little hope of being able to use that which we had left hanging in the forest. However we hastened away to save the skins, if there was yet time. The streams were still so swelled that we could only pass them on horseback. We reached our last camp about noon, and found, as we had expected, that the meat was tainted, and the greater part of it devoured by vultures. We stretched the skins, in the hope that the wind, with the help of a faint sun, which was peering bashfully through the clouds, might dry them.

As it grew late, and we had no other provisions than bread and salt, we set off with the dogs to look for turkeys, and came upon a gang just as they were making themselves comfortable for the night. We killed two, and might have shot more, but did not wish to increase the quantity of decaying meat in the neighborhood. On this account we removed our camp about half a mile off, stretched our blankets to keep off a light drizzling rain, hobbled the horses, and fed them with maize. The wolves made a dreadful noise all night at our old quarters. In the morning the rain held up, and the clouds separated a little; so I set off to try and steal a march on them, and spoil their howling. The leaves were wet, and going round to gain the wind, I crept for about two hundred yards on my knees up to a large tree, and counted eight of them. Although they were to windward of me, one of them raised his head and began snuffing the air, then turned sharp round, and they all made off with their peculiar long gallop for the bush. Now was my time or never; I aimed at one of the largest, which covered another with its body. When the smoke cleared away, not a wolf was to be seen; they had vanished like magic—but following up the trail, I found one dead, and signs of another being wounded; but I found nothing more of the latter,—he was probably torn to pieces by his comrades. I scalped my prize, and returned to the camp; the scalp is valued, as before stated, at three dollars.

Meantime Conwell had employed himself in roasting turkeys, and we made an excellent breakfast. We then started off again. When I came to the place where I had hung up the buck, whose capture nearly cost me my neck, I found that the wolves had succeeded in dragging it down, and eaten nearly all but the bones. I knocked over another, and also killed a wild cat; returning to camp in the afternoon, where Conwell had arrived before me. He had killed a couple of deer, and we decided on bringing them to the camp, as there were so many wolves about.

Finding no traces of bears, we determined to leave the Richland and try the Mulberry again; so next morning we loaded our horses, and set off on our return. As we were descending a hill, Conwell stopped suddenly at the foot of a large oak, and after examining the bark attentively, he said that a bear was either in the tree, or had very lately left it. The weather had improved, and it was again rather cold. We had nothing better than our tomahawks for cutting down the tree, and they were not very sharp; a few strokes proved the fact. Luckily for us it was hollow, and we set-to with a will.

After hacking at it for three hours, the tree began to crack. We seized our rifles, called the dogs, and hastened towards the direction in which the tree must fall, to be ready to receive him. A couple of small splinters broke first; then a larger one; then the top began to bend slowly down the hill; then with a loud crash, and smashing its branches in the fall, the tree measured its length on the ground. No bear appeared; the nest was empty, though there could be no doubt it had lately been tenanted, for the sides were beautifully smooth and clean. There was a bough about five feet below the hole, where the bear went in and out, on which an Indian must formerly have stood, and tried to make an opening with his tomahawk, but without success; probably the bear, disturbed by the blows, had made his way out in time. Judging by the bark, this must have occurred about four or five years ago.

While we were looking at it, Conwell asked what the dogs were about; they appeared to be very eagerly licking up something from the ground, and we found that, accidentally, we had cut down a tree with honey in it. The bees were all torpid with the cold, and the dogs were enjoying the honey, which the breaking boughs had brought to light. Our plans were soon arranged; Conwell went to look for a deer; I took my tomahawk to cut a trough, and was soon busy about the upper part of the trunk, which was sound enough. As it was freezing, and the honey would not run, there was no occasion to make the trough very deep; so it was soon finished, and I loaded it with great lumps of the frozen delicacy. This done, I collected wood and made a fire, expecting we should pass the night here; but just then I heard the report of Conwell’s gun quite near, followed by his hail: I answered, and was soon by his side. He had killed a large fat doe, which we hung up by the hind legs, made a cut above the haunch, and drew off the skin without another touch of the knife, except at the knees, hocks, and head; stopping the holes, we turned it with the hair outwards, and so made a bag to carry the honey. When it was all in, I mounted, Conwell handed it to me, and away we went homewards, leaving the greater part of the last deer behind.