legs of his long boots, and he wore a kind of hunting frock, which
reached nearly to his knees. He was lean and lank, but, annealed in the
hardships of backwoods life, he was wiry and sinewy. He was about fifty
years old, though his gray hair and beard alone appeared to betray his
age. He was from the south; a fine specimen of the real Kentucky
hunter--"half horse and half alligator."

There was a kind of stern dignity in his countenance that always awed
me, though I knew that Kit had a kind heart, and was only terrible to
those who injured him or his friends. He lived by hunting and trapping,
and always had a large supply of peltries to dispose of whenever a
trading steamer came up the Missouri.

"How's yer bones, Matt?" said he, dropping the butt of his long rifle
upon the earthen floor of our cabin.

"Poorly, Kit, poorly," replied Matt. "I'm about did for in this world.
I can shoot no more, and couldn't hit the moon at ten paces."

"That's bad; 'cause 'pears like some shootin' must be did. There's a
squad o' redskins up above me, and I cal'late they mean mischief, if
they begin by stealin' your hosses. We'll git out into natur'," said
Kit, as he left the house, followed by the rest of the party.

He evidently expected a visit from the savages very soon. I took down
my little rifle from the brackets, and also, at Matt's request, carried
out his long weapon, with the accoutrements. We were all rigged for the
war path, and, for my own part, I was never so much excited in my life.
I wondered how Kit could keep so cool. He was deeply skilled in Indian
craft, and when he thought there was danger, others might be excused
for adopting his opinion. Old Matt seated himself on a box near the
barn door, and the rest of us gathered around him.

"Them Injuns has had a hard winter on't," said Kit. "They won't git
their gov'ment money and traps for a month yit, and they are half
starved. They've lost half their hosses, and all these things makes 'em
ugly. But I didn't think o' nothin' till I heered they stole your
hosses, and you hed theirs."

"I never hed much trouble with 'em," added old Matt. "They've stole my
hosses afore, but I allus got 'em back, as I did this time."

"When an Injun's hungry, he's ugly."

The two patriarchs discussed the situation at length, while I listened
in reverent humility to their words. Mr. Mellowtone smoked his pipe in
silence. I think his pipe was in his mouth at least two thirds of the
t