After supper, while we were lying on the grass on the river bank, my guest told me that he was a native of Missouri, the son of a farmer, but had been compelled by unfortunate circumstances to quit home, and had been living for five years as a desert hunter. At first he remained on the frontiers of his own State, but the cold winters had continually driven him to the south, until he at last got so far down to a country whose climate agreed better with him. He remained a whole week with me, and made himself useful during the day through his skill in making all sorts of trifles; for instance, carvings in poplar and cypress wood, plaiting strong tight lines of different coloured horsehair, tanning skins, making neatly ornamental powder flasks out of buffalo horns, and charge measures of the fangs of bears and jaguars, while in the evening he described in a most lively manner the numerous dangers he had fortunately escaped, and the many fights he had had with the Redskins during the five years. The unchanging calmness which usually covered his noble face often deserted him when describing these scenes; his eyes flashed like daggers in the moonlight, his brow contracted, and we could read on his forehead that he must be a terrible foe when aroused. But these outbursts of passion soon passed away, and the ordinary gentleness spread once more over his features. Among the feelings reflected on various occasions in his face, there was an unmistakeable melancholy, which must be produced by events of his life before the period when he bade farewell to human society, and this was proved by the fact that he spoke reluctantly about that time, and always became silent when the conversation was accidentally turned to it. Hence I carefully avoided alluding to the period, for if a heavy crime lay hid in his bosom, I was ready to excuse it; while if he was suffering undeservedly, I pitied him, and would not augment his sorrow by unnecessarily evoking his reminiscences. I would have gladly kept him with me, as he was a pleasant, attractive companion in my solitude; but he would go, and it seemed to me as if the tranquillity he enjoyed at my house did not permanently satisfy him, and as if he wished to deaden memory by the wild, perilous life he led on his hunting expeditions. I equipped him as far as lay in my power with everything that could soothe his fatiguing life, and took a hearty leave of him in front of the fort. He parted regretfully, and was greatly excited when he shook my hand in farewell and mounted his powerful horse, which he had trained like a dog. He promised to pay me another visit soon, and galloped at such a pace over the prairie, as if he wished thus to dispel the thoughts which had mastered him. I watched him for a long distance, till he disappeared in a cloud of dust on the edge of the prairie.