and kindness of heart; he had, moreover, a keen perception of character and a tact that would preserve him from flagrant error in any society.  Henry had not the restless energy of an Anglo-American.  He was content to take things as he found them; and his chief fault arose from an excess of easy generosity, impelling him to give away too profusely ever to thrive in the world.  Yet it was commonly remarked of him, that whatever he might choose to do with what belonged to himself, the property of others was always safe in his hands.  His bravery was as much celebrated in the mountains as his skill in hunting; but it is characteristic of him that in a country where the rifle is the chief arbiter between man and man, Henry was very seldom involved in quarrels.  Once or twice, indeed, his quiet good-nature had been mistaken and presumed upon, but the consequences of the error were so formidable that no one was ever known 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 on his breast.  Having shaken us by the hand with a cordial grunt of salutation, the old man, dropping his red blanket from