The silence was thrilling. Our voices echoed beneath the leafy canopy with a sound that rendered them strange even to our own ears. Even the crackling of the dry twigs, as they snapped beneath the hoofs of our horses, had a strange and solemn sound: but, as we grew familiarized with it, this feeling wore off, nor was it long before the jest and merry laugh went on as usual; and, I imagine, many a long day had passed since those aged forests had rung to such sounds of boisterous merriment as burst from the lips of the band, as we galloped towards the prairie, which lay but a few miles beyond. In half an hour we reached it. A loud whoop from our guide announced that something more than usual had met his eye. At the same time he struck his spurs into his horse and galloped out into the open prairie. At a short distance, a long troop of horsemen was trailing through the high grass, and preparing to enter a small thicket of timber which rose in the prairie at a short distance. They were a body of the United States’ Rangers, and had just returned from escorting the Santa Fé traders across a portion of the perilous route, which they are obliged to take, in carrying on their profitable, though hazardous, trade with that inland mart. When we met, they had been more than a month absent from the garrison, seeing none but their own party, or occasionally a straggling band of friendly Indians, carrying their whole wardrobe in the small valise attached to their saddles; dependent for subsistence on hunting alone, and continually on the look-out for an enemy,—an enemy that always came when least expected, tarried but to strike the blow, and retreated with equal celerity to the fastnesses of their own mountains. There is always a feeling of vagabond companionship engendered by travelling in the wilderness; and, although we were not a day’s ride beyond the settlements, we hailed the sight of this tatterdemalion band with as much joy as if we had been united by the links of a long and well-tried friendship. We spent half an hour with them; then spurring on, we soon reached the bank of the Kanzas river. This is one of the largest tributaries of the Missouri; being from a quarter to two miles in width, and varying in depth from one to thirty feet. Upon reaching its brink, we found attached to a tree a large scow, which was used as a ferry-boat. Its owner, a tall thin Delaware, was quietly seated in one corner, pouring out a flood of smoke from a small pipe which garnished one corner of his mouth. There is always an air of gentlemanly laziness hanging about the Indians. They live they know not how, and they care not where. A little suffices them: if they can get it, they are satisfied; if not, they are satisfied without it. They belong to a sect of philosophers ranging between the Epicureans and the Stoics. When pleasure presents its cup, they drink it to the dregs; and when the reverse is the case, they bear it without a murmur.