“Don’t say anything,” he interrupted, with a smile. “I will do it. There is no use of trying to persuade me to go with you. My mind is made up, and has been made up a long time.” Imogene joined her entreaties with mine, but he could not be made to change his resolution. Not wishing to detain our friends, I extended my hand. “If you are determined to remain, I must now bid you good-by, Nat. Your determination is so new to me that I can hardly realize it. It is a hopeless search upon which you are going, I fear. May the One who has so mercifully watched over all of us, still protect you. If you ever see Biddon, don’t forget me to him. Good-by.” “Nor me either,” said Imogene, taking his hand. “I long to see him, to pour out my heart’s gratitude to him. I hope we shall see you again.” “Oh! you will, sure. I shall be down in the States one of these days, and like enough bring a wife with me, and several little Nat Todds, as good-looking as your heirs will be. You mustn’t think this is a last farewell, for I know it isn’t.” We exchanged farewells once more, and then were rowed out to the steamboat. As we were received on board, Nat swung his plume over his head, and shouted: “Long life to you! the fust news you will receive from Nat Todd will be a telegraphic dispatch from the Rocky Mountains, ‘that he is making a sensation in that neighborhood.’” Another and a last farewell, and the eccentric being had vanished in the forest. Imogene had no suspicion of the true cause of Nat Todd’s erratic course, and I judged it best to let her remain in ignorance until Nat should inform her himself. Whether that time was ever to come or not, no one could tell; but I had strong hope that it would. As may be supposed, our advent created an infinite amount of questioning and wonderment for our new-found friends. The boat was the steamer “Shooting Star,” which had been sent to trace the Yellowstone, as far as it was navigable, by a company in St. Louis. They proposed opening trade in this section, and knowing well the prodigious resources of the country watered by its tributaries, had sent a skillful captain and crew to ascertain its character and availability. This river had, however, been ascended before. The “Shooting Star” ascended the Yellowstone several hundred miles further, until brought to a stand still by the rapids in its upper part. Several days were spent in running up Clark’s Fork, the Big Horn, Tongue, Powder, and numerous other streams, many of which, as yet, have received no names though of considerable size. All along the banks of these gathered crowds of wondering Indians, who surveyed us with mingled terror and amazement. On two occasions, when halting to wood, the crew were attacked by them, and one of their number was slain. At other points they manifested a friendly disposition and bartered extensively with us.