The sun had not set when our friendly host's partner arrived with his horse, loaded with deer meat. He was greatly surprised at finding so large a party, and very pleased to have an opportunity of hearing news from the States, even though it was not of the freshest. He was young and tall, with a healthy, merry face, brown eyes, pleasant mouth, a commencing beard, and long, dark brown curls hanging over his shoulders. His tight-fitting leathern dress was made with more coquettishness than Armstrong's, and displayed his handsome person, while a broad-brimmed black beaver hat slightly pulled over one ear, imparted to his whole appearance something resolute and determined. Our cattle were now brought up and fastened to the withered trees in the open space--then we lay down on our skins round the fire and enjoyed the beaver tails, while our hosts paid special attention to our biscuits and coffee, which were a rarity for them. After supper Armstrong sent the whisky-cup round again, then pipes were lighted, and we first answered the thousand questions asked us about the state of affairs at home, and which principally referred to politics. When this subject was exhausted, Armstrong spoke and told us the principal events of his life since he last bade farewell to civilization, his various bloodthirsty fights with the Indians, the dangers they had often escaped with difficulty, and the fatigues and unpleasantnesses they endured, among which he mentioned the hailstorm, which had also annoyed us. He told us of successful hunts with the traps, and promised to show us the next morning the last beaver to be found in these parts. Then he told us how the ex-owner of the monstrous bearskin, which hung behind us on a tree, had paid a visit one evening to their camp, and how they killed it. For fear of the Indians they dared not light a large fire, and the few coals had not frightened the bear, which advanced within a few yards of them, when both fired their rifles at its head, and laid it dead on the ground. While telling this story, Armstrong pulled off his shirt and showed us on his sides and back a regular mass of scars which he had received from the embraces of dying grizzlies. He narrated so picturesquely that the matter was fully brought before the listener: his powerful deep voice, which kept pace with the fire of his narrative, the passionate gestures by which he accompanied his narrative, as well as his coarse form, illumined by the fire and the surrounding scenery, produced a remarkable and permanent impression on me. We listened to the stories till a late hour, when fatigue at length closed our eyes.