Norton was startled by the appearance of this man, who seemed not of the woods and yet a woodsman. He wore a magnificent ruffled shirt of finest French linen, flung open at the throat to display a neck as bronzed as Norton's own; his coat and knee-breeches were of black satin, his knee-high moccasins of rude home make; a watch fob-ribbon hung on one side of his belt, a powder-horn and hunting-knife opposite. Over one ear was stuck a long crayon, while in his hand he held a thin board with paper fastened to it. "_Parbleu_!" exclaimed the stranger, then continued instantly in excellent English, staring hard at Norton: "Your coming was most unfortunate, sir! You frightened away the finest specimen of Kentucky cardinal I have seen this year!" "Accept my apologies, monsieur," smiled Norton, speaking in French. "You are a Frenchman, then?" "I? Not at all!" cried the other. "I was born in Louisiana, removing later to France, but this is my country. Who are you, sir, who speak French so excellently in this wilderness? Do you come from the French Grant up-river?" "No, I gained that language in New Orleans," returned Norton, wondering greatly who this eccentric stranger might be. "I regret having frightened away your bird--I trust you did not anticipate dining upon him?" The other looked bewildered. "Eh? Dining? Do you eat such birds, sir?" "Heavens, no!" And Norton laughed despite himself. "But what else could you want of him?" The stranger broke into a frank laughter; so winning and direct was his whole attitude that the puzzled Norton felt an odd liking for the man. "It seems we were both mistaken then! I was limning the bird--but come to the higher ground in here. Did you ever see a cardinal's nest?" "I never looked for one," returned Norton curtly. He followed to a small patch of drier ground in the centre of the cane-brake, and the stranger eagerly pointed to a nest in the branches of a young cottonwood, to one side. "Sit down--stay quiet!" commanded the other quickly. "They will return in a half-hour, sir----" "Then I'll be on my way," broke in Norton drily, "for I have other business than watching birds, sir." He turned, when the stranger set down the paper and board, on which only a few sketchy lines were visible, and caught at his arm. "Pardon, sir--one moment! Are you lately from Louisiana? Do you know that country well?" "I've lived there all my life, practically," said Norton. "Why?" "Well"--and the other seemed to forget his birds temporarily--"I was but a child when I went to France, and last year I heard a monstrous strange story of Upper Louisiana, which I have never been able to authenticate. I met one of the men who had been on Colonel Burr's ill-fated expedition, and he assured me that on the banks of the Missouri there is a mountain of salt----" "Travellers' tales," laughed Norton, but the other continued quickly: