"_call again_" was borne back to his element and launched once more upon the waters. After the introduction of steamboats on the Western rivers, Mike's occupation was gone. He could not consent, however, altogether to quit his free, wild life of adventure; and accordingly in 1822, he, together with Carpenter and Talbot, who were his firmest friends, joined Henry and Ashley's company of Missouri trappers, and with this company they proceeded in the same year up to the mouth of the Yellow Stone river. Here a fort was built and from this point parties of hunters were sent out in all directions. Mike with his two friends and nine others formed one of these parties, and preferring to live to themselves, they dug a hole in the river bluff and here spent the winter. While here, Mike Fink and Carpenter had a fierce quarrel, caused probably by rivalry in the favors of a certain squaw. Previous to this time the friendship of these two men had been unbounded. Carpenter was equally as good a shot as Mike and it had been their custom to place a tin cup of whisky on each other's head by turns and shoot it off at the distance of seventy yards with their rifles. This feat they had often performed and always successfully. After the quarrel, and when spring had returned, they re-visited the fort and over a cup of whisky they talked over their difficulty and rendered their vows of amity, which were to be ratified by the usual trial of shooting at the cup. They "skyed a copper" for the first shot and Mike won it. Carpenter, who knew Mike thoroughly, declared he was going to be killed, but scorned to refuse the test. He prepared himself for the worst. He bequeathed his gun, pistols, wages, &c., to Talbot, in case he should be killed. They went to the field, and while Mike loaded his gun and prepared for the shot, Carpenter filled a tin cup to the brim, and, without moving a feature, placed it on his devoted head. At this target Mike levelled his piece. After fixing his aim, however, he took down his gun, and laughingly cried, "Hold your noddle steady, Carpenter, and don't spill the whisky, for I shall want some presently." Then raising his rifle again, he pulled the trigger, and in an instant Carpenter fell and expired without a groan. The ball had penetrated the center of his forehead about an inch and a half above the eyes. Mike coolly set down his rifle and blew the smoke out of it, keeping his eye fixed on the prostrate body of his quondam friend. "Carpenter," said he, "have you spilt the whisky?" He was told that he had killed Carpenter. "It is all an accident," said he, "I took as fair a bead on the black spot on the cup as ever I took on a squirrel's eye. How could it happen?" And he fell to cursing powder, gun, bullet and himself.