Dr. Finley, the post-surgeon at Fort Howard, on hearing the matter debated, offered me immediately his favorite horse Charlie.  “He is very sure-footed,” the doctor alleged, “and capital in a marsh or troublesome stream.”

By land, then, it was decided to go; and as soon as our old Menomonee friend “Wish-tay-yun,” who was as good a guide by land as by water, could be summoned, we set off, leaving our trunks to be forwarded by Hamilton whenever it should please him to carry out his intention of sending up his boat.

We waited until a late hour on the morning of our departure for our fellow-travellers, Mr. Wing, of Monroe, and Dr. Philleo, of Galena; but, finding they did not join us, we resolved to lose no time, confident that we should all meet at the Kakalin in the course of the evening.

After crossing the river at what is now Depere, and entering the wild, unsettled country on the west of the river, we found a succession of wooded hills, separated by ravines so narrow and steep that it seemed impossible that any animals but mules or goats could make their way among them.

Wish-tay-yun took the lead.  The horse he rode was accustomed to the country, and well trained to this style of road.  As for Charlie, he was perfectly admirable.  When he came to a precipitous descent, he would set forward his forefeet, and slide down on his haunches in the most scientific manner, while my only mode of preserving my balance was to hold fast by the bridle and lay myself braced almost flat against his back.  Then our position would suddenly change, and we would be scaling the opposite bank, at the imminent risk of falling backward into the ravine below.

It was amusing to see Wish-tay-yun, as he scrambled on ahead, now and then turning partly round to see how I fared.  And when, panting and laughing, I at length reached the summit, he would throw up his hands, and shout, with the utmost glee, “Mamma Manitou!” (My mother is a spirit.)

Our old acquaintances, the Grignons, seemed much surprised that I should have ventured on such a journey.  They had never undertaken it, although they had lived so long at the Kakalin; but then there was no reason why they should have done so.  They could always command a canoe or a boat when they wished to visit “the Bay.”

As we had anticipated, our gentlemen joined us at supper.  “They had delayed to take dinner with Colonel Stambaugh—­had had a delightful gallop up from:  the Bay—­had seen no ravines, nor anything but fine smooth roads—­might have been asleep, but, if so, were not conscious of it.”  This was the account they gave of themselves, to our no small amusement.

From the Kakalin to the Butte des Morts, where lived a man named Knaggs, was our next day’s stage.  The country was rough and wild, much like that we had passed through the spring before, in going from Hamilton’s diggings to Kellogg’s Grove, but we were fortunate in having Wish-tay-yun, rather than “Uncle Billy,” for our guide, so that we could make our way with some degree of moderation.