WHITE RIVER AND ITS NEIGHBORHOOD. 311 



where there is game' in abundance ; it divides into two 

 arms, one of which falls into the Mississippi, and the 

 other into the Arkansas. 



As the wind fell, the dry cold air changed into a damp 

 fog, which soon turned to rain, and we were glad to find 

 shelter under the roof of a free negro, who kept a sort of 

 tavern. Merry peals of laughter resounded from the well- 

 lighted room, where a bright fire was blazing, and very 

 comfortable did its warmth appear to us after our expo- 

 sure to the weather. Three jovial looking fellows were 

 sitting round it, telling stories, and roaring with laughter. 

 Three long American rifles, with their shot-belts hanging 

 on them, leaning in a corner, showed that the party, if 

 not regular woodsmen, were at least out on a shooting 

 excursion. A half empty whiskey-bottle stood on the 

 table, and after a short conversation, I learnt that the 

 little fat man, with sparkling eyes and ruby nose, sitting 

 enjoying himself in the corner, and making constant love 

 to the whiskey-bottle, was Magnus the distiller, who, 

 with a couple of friends, was on his way to the swamps, 

 from whence we came, for the sake of buffalo hunting. 

 The little man drank my health, and amused me very 

 much with his drolleries-. He could think of nothing but 

 buffaloes, swore only by buffaloes, made bets in buffalo- 

 skins, estimated every thing by their value, and tor- 

 mented the small modicum of understanding which the 

 whiskey had left in his brains, to devise how he should 

 be able to transport at the greatest advantage the skins 

 of all the buffaloes 'he meant to kill. 



It was all in vain that I attempted to give him an idea 

 of the almost impenetrable swamps, of the difficulty of 



