g
his old hat still farther over his eyes, begged for a _whang_, meaning a
narrow strip of deer-skin. The lady very obligingly cut one from a large
smoked skin, which she produced from its receptacle, and mother and son
took their leave, with a smiling but rather a scared look.

After tea we returned to Mrs. Morrison's parlor, where she kindly
insisted on my again reposing myself on the little bed, to recruit me,
as she said, for the ensuing day's journey. My husband, in the mean
time, went to look after the accommodation of his men and horses.

During the conversation that ensued, I learned that Mrs. Morrison had
passed much time in the neighborhood of my recent home in Oneida County,
that many of the friends I had loved and valued were likewise her
friends, and that she had even proposed to visit me at Fort Winnebago on
hearing of my arrival there, in order to commence an acquaintance which
had thus been brought about by other and unexpected means.

Long and pleasant was the discourse we held together until a late hour,
and mutual was the satisfaction with which we passed old friends and
by-gone events in review, much to the edification of Miss Dodge, and of
the gentlemen when they once more joined us.

CHAPTER XIV.

WILLIAM S. HAMILTON--KELLOGG'S GROVE.

The next morning, after a cheerful breakfast, at which we were joined by
the Rev. Mr. Kent, of Galena, we prepared for our journey. I had
reconciled my husband to continuing our route towards Chicago, by
assuring him that I felt as fresh and bright as when I first set out
from home.

There seemed some apprehension, however, that we might have difficulty
in "striking the trail" to Hamilton's _diggings_, our next point of
destination.

The directions we received were certainly obscure. We were to pursue a
given trail for a certain number of miles, when we should come to a
crossing into which we were to turn, taking an easterly direction; after
a time, this would bring us to a deep trail leading straight to
Hamilton's. In this open country there are no landmarks. One elevation
is so exactly like another, that if you lose your trail there is almost
as little hope of regaining it as of finding a pathway in the midst of
the ocean.[15]

The trail, it must be remembered, is not a broad highway, but a narrow
path, deeply indented by the hoofs of the horses on which the Indians
travel in single file. So deeply is it sunk in the sod which covers the
prairies