His shrewd gimlet eyes seemed fairly to pierce me, as he deliberately helped himself to tobacco from a pouch at his waist.

“Wal, that may all be, Maester John; but I’ve heerd tell ther is some most awful things goes on out yonder,” and he swung his long arm meaningly toward the west.  “Animyles sich as don’t prowl raound yere, man-yeatin’ snakes as big as thet tree, an’ the blood-thirstiest salvages as ever was.  An’ arter a while ther ain’t no more trees grows, ther lan’ is thet poor, by gosh! jist a plumb dead levil er’ short grass, an’ no show ter hide ner nuthin’.”

“Were you ever there, Seth?” I questioned with growing anxiety, for I had heard some such vague rumors as these before.

“Me?  Not by a dinged sight!” he replied, emphatically.  “This yere is a long way further west thin I keer ‘bout bein’.  Ol’ Vermont is plenty good ‘nough fer this chicken, an’ many ’s ther day I wish I was back ther.  But I hed a cousin onct who tuk ter sojerin’ ’long with Gineral Clarke, an’ went ’cross them ther prairies ter git Vincennes frum the British.  Lor’! it must a’ bin more ner thirty year ago!  He tol’ me thet they jist hed ter wade up ter ther neck in water fer days an’ days.  I ain’t so durn fond o’ water as all thet.  An’ he said as how rattlesnakes was everywhere; an’ ther Injuns was mos’ twice es big es they be yere.”

“But Clarke, and nearly all of his men, got back safely,” I protested.

“Oh, I guess some on ’em got back, ’cause they was an awful lot in thet army, mighty nigh two thousand on ’em, Ephriam said; but, I tell ye, they hed a most terrible tough time afore they did git hum.  I seed my cousin whin he kim back, an’ he was jist a mere shadder; though he was bigger ner you whin he went ’way.”

“But Fort Dearborn is much farther to the north.  Perhaps it will be better up there.”

“Wuss,” he insisted, with a most mournful shake of the head, “a dinged sight wuss.  Ephriam said es how the further north ye wint, the tougher it got.  He saw an Injun from up near the big lake—­a Pottamottamie, or somethin’ like thet—­what was nine fut high, an’ he told him es how the rivers in his kintry was all full o’ man-eatin’ critters like snakes, an’ some on ’em hed a hundred legs ter crawl with, an’ cud travel a dinged sight faster ner a hoss.  By gosh! but you bet I don’t want none on it.  Your father must ‘a’ been plum crazy fer ter sind ye way out ther all ‘lone,—­jist a green boy like you.  What ye a-goin’ fer, enyhow?”

I explained to him the occasion and necessity for my trip, but he shook his head dubiously, his long face so exceedingly mournful that I could not remain unaffected by it.

“Wal,” he said at length, carefully weighing his words, “maybe it’s all right ’nough, but I ’ve got my doubts jist the same.  I ’ll bet thet ther gal is jist one o’ them will-o’-the-wisps we hear on, an’ you never will find her.  You ’ll jist wander ‘round, huntin’ an’ huntin’ her, till ye git old, or them monsters git ye.  An’ I ’ll be blamed if ever I heerd tell o’ no sich fort as thet, nohow.”