y was a virtue which cost nothing. Any stranger, with
his rifle, could easily pay his way in the procurement of food. They
all turned back and entered the cabin together. Mrs. Owen was an
excellent, motherly woman, about fifty years of age. Her sympathies
were immediately excited for the poor little boy, whose garments were
drenched, and who was shivering as if in an ague-fit. She replenished
the fire, dried his clothes, and gave him some warm and nourishing
food. The grateful father writes:

"Her kindness to my little boy did me ten times as much good as
anything she could have done for me, if she had tried her best."

These were not the days of temperance. The whiskey-bottle was
considered one of the indispensables of every log cabin which made any
pretences to gentility. The boat, moored near the shore, was loaded
with whiskey, flour, sugar, hardware, and other articles, valuable in
the Indian trade in the purchase of furs, and in great demand in the
huts of pioneers. There was a small trading-post at what was called
McLemone's Bluff; about thirty miles farther up the river by land, and
nearly one hundred in following the windings of the stream. This point
the boatmen were endeavoring to reach.

For landing their cargo at this point the boatmen were to receive five
hundred dollars, besides the profits of any articles they could sell in
the scattered hamlets they might encounter by the way. The
whiskey-bottle was of course brought out. Crockett drank deeply; he
says, at least half a pint. His tongue was unloosed, and he became one
of the most voluble and entertaining of men. His clothes having been
dried by the fire, and all having with boisterous merriment partaken of
a hearty supper, as night came on the little boy was left to the tender
care of Mrs. Owen, while the rest of the party repaired to the cabin of
the boat, to make a night of it in drinking and carousal.

They had indeed a wild time. There was whiskey in abundance. Crockett
was in his element, and kept the whole company in a constant roar.
Their shouts and bacchanal songs resounded through the solitudes, with
clamor and profaneness which must have fallen painfully upon angels'
ears, if any of heaven's pure and gentle spirits were within hearing
distance.

"We had," writes Crockett, "a high night of it, as I took steam enough
to drive out all the cold that was in me, and about three times as much
more."

These boon companions became warm friends, ac