Delorier made his appearance in the morning, strangely transformed by the assistance of a hat, a coat, and a razor.  His little log-house was among the woods not far off.  It seemed he had meditated giving a ball on the occasion of his return, and had consulted Henry Chatillon as to whether it would do to invite his bourgeois.  Henry expressed his entire conviction that we would not take it amiss, and the invitation was now proffered, accordingly, Delorier adding as a special inducement that Antoine Lejeunesse was to play the fiddle.  We told him we would certainly come, but before the evening arrived a steamboat, which came down from Fort Leavenworth, prevented our being present at the expected festivities.  Delorier was on the rock at the landing place, waiting to take leave of us.

“Adieu! mes bourgeois; adieu! adieu!” he cried out as the boat pulled off; “when you go another time to de Rocky Montagnes I will go with you; yes, I will go!”

He accompanied this patronizing assurance by jumping about swinging his hat, and grinning from ear to ear.  As the boat rounded a distant point, the last object that met our eyes was Delorier still lifting his hat and skipping about the rock.  We had taken leave of Munroe and Jim Gurney at Westport, and Henry Chatillon went down in the boat with us.

The passage to St. Louis occupied eight days, during about a third of which we were fast aground on sand-bars.  We passed the steamer Amelia crowded with a roaring crew of disbanded volunteers, swearing, drinking, gambling, and fighting.  At length one evening we reached the crowded levee of St. Louis.  Repairing to the Planters’ House, we caused diligent search to be made for our trunks, which after some time were discovered stowed away in the farthest corner of the storeroom.  In the morning we hardly recognized each other; a frock of broadcloth had supplanted the frock of buckskin; well-fitted pantaloons took the place of the Indian leggings, and polished boots were substituted for the gaudy moccasins.

After we had been several days at St. Louis we heard news of Tete Rouge.  He had contrived to reach Fort Leavenworth, where he had found the paymaster and received his money.  As a boat was just ready to start for St. Louis, he went on board and engaged his passage.  This done, he immediately got drunk on shore, and the boat went off without him.  It was some days before another opportunity occurred, and meanwhile the sutler’s stores furnished him with abundant means of keeping up his spirits.  Another steamboat came at last, the clerk of which happened to be a friend of his, and by the advice of some charitable person on shore he persuaded Tete Rouge to remain on board, intending to detain him there until the boat should leave the fort.  At first Tete Rouge was well contented with this arrangement, but on applying for a dram, the barkeeper, at the clerk’s instigation, refused to let him have it.  Finding them both inflexible in spite of