miles from the mouth of the Missouri. Here we landed and leaving our
equipments in charge of my good friend Colonel Chick, whose log-house
was the substitute for a tavern, we set out in a wagon for Westport,
where we hoped to procure mules and horses for the journey.

It was a remarkably fresh and beautiful May morning. The rich and
luxuriant woods through which the miserable road conducted us were
lighted by the bright sunshine and enlivened by a multitude of birds. We
overtook on the way our late fellow-travelers, the Kansas Indians, who,
adorned with all their finery, were proceeding homeward at a round pace;
and whatever they might have seemed on board the boat, they made a very
striking and picturesque feature in the forest landscape.

Westport was full of Indians, whose little shaggy ponies were tied by
dozens along the houses and fences. Sacs and Foxes, with shaved heads
and painted faces, Shawanoes and Delawares, fluttering in calico frocks,
and turbans, Wyandottes dressed like white men, and a few wretched
Kansas wrapped in old blankets, were strolling about the streets, or
lounging in and out of the shops and houses.

As I stood at the door of the tavern, I saw a remarkable looking person
coming up the street. He had a ruddy face, garnished with the stumps of
a bristly red beard and mustache; on one side of his head was a round
cap with a knob at the top, such as Scottish laborers sometimes wear;
his coat was of a nondescript form, and made of a gray Scotch plaid,
with the fringes hanging all about it; he wore pantaloons of coarse
homespun, and hob-nailed shoes; and to complete his equipment, a little
black pipe was stuck in one corner of his mouth. In this curious attire,
I recognized Captain C. of the British army, who, with his brother, and
Mr. R., an English gentleman, was bound on a hunting expedition across