to repeat it. No better evidence of the intrepidity of his temper could
be wished than the common report that he had killed more than thirty
grizzly bears. He was a proof of what unaided nature will sometimes do.
I have never, in the city or in the wilderness, met a better man than my
noble and true-hearted friend, Henry Chatillon.

We were soon free of the woods and bushes, and fairly upon the broad
prairie. Now and then a Shawanoe passed us, riding his little shaggy
pony at a "lope"; his calico shirt, his gaudy sash, and the gay
handkerchief bound around his snaky hair fluttering in the wind. At noon
we stopped to rest not far from a little creek replete with frogs and
young turtles. There had been an Indian encampment at the place, and
the framework of their lodges still remained, enabling us very easily
to gain a shelter from the sun, by merely spreading one or two blankets
over them. Thus shaded, we sat upon our saddles, and Shaw for the first
time lighted his favorite Indian pipe; while Delorier was squatted over
a hot bed of coals, shading his eyes with one hand, and holding a little
stick in the other, with which he regulated the hissing contents of the
frying-pan. The horses were turned to feed among the scattered bushes of
a low oozy meadow. A drowzy springlike sultriness pervaded the air, and
the voices of ten thousand young frogs and insects, just awakened into
life, rose in varied chorus from the creek and the meadows.

Scarcely were we seated when a visitor approached. This was an old
Kansas Indian; a man of distinction, if one might judge from his dress.
His head was shaved and painted red, and from the tuft of hair remaining
on the crown dangled several eagles' feathers, and the tails of two or
three rattlesnakes. His cheeks, too, were daubed with vermilion; his
ears were adorned with green glass pendants; a collar of grizzly bears'
claws surrounded his neck, and several large necklaces of wampum hung