176 THE HIVE OF THE BEE-HUNTER. 
A month or more elapsed, and Mike had progressed 
several hundred miles down the Mississippi; his journey 
had been remarkably free from incident; morning, noon, 
and night, presented the same banks, the same muddy 
water, and he sighed to see some broken land, some high 
hills, and he railed and swore, that he should have been 
such a fool as to desert his favorite Ohio fora river that 
produced nothing but alligators; and was never, at best, 
half finished. | 
Occasionally, the plentifulness of game put him in 
spirits, but it did not last long; he wanted more lasting 
excitement, and declared himself as perfectly miserable 
and helpless, as a wild-cat without teeth or claws. 
In the vicinity of Natchez rise a few abrupt hills, 
which tower above the surrounding lowlands of the Mis- 
sissippi like monuments; they are not high, but from 
their loneliness and rarity, they create sensations of 
pleasure and awe. | 
Under the shadow of one of these bluffs, Mike and 
his associates made the customary preparations for pass- 
ing the night. Mike’s enthusiasm knew no bounds at 
the sight of land again; he said it was as pleasant as 
“ cold water to a fresh wound ;” and, as his spirits rose, 
he went on making the region round about, according to 
his notions, an agreeable residence. 
“The Choctaws live in these diggins,” said Mike, 
‘and a cursed time they must have of it. Now if I 
lived in these parts I’d declare war on ’em just to have 
