130 HUNTING SPORTS OF THE WEST. 



looked forward to a happy old age, in the circle of ar 

 amiable family in the vicinity of his married children, in 

 the enjoyment of health and strength. Wherefore should 

 he be unhappy ? 



I stood up to change the current of my thoughts, poked 

 at the fire, laid the logs together, which were burnt through 

 the middle, and reposed again on my blanket. Conwell 

 told me he was sixty-two years old to-day, 31st of De- 

 cember, 1841 ; and yet he was so strong and active that 

 I had to exert myself to keep up with him. He spoke 

 of his past life ; how he had continually preceded civiliza- 

 tion, first in Carolina, then in Kentucky, Tennessee, 

 Missouri, and now in the Ozark mountains, and he com- 

 plained that people were gathering too thick about him, 

 and said he felt a strong inclination to make another 

 move. He mentioned how fortunate and happy he was 

 in his family. He spoke of his children, and as I listened 

 to him my troubled thoughts were soothed ; it was as if 

 one of my own family was speaking. Thus passed our 

 evening till sleep weighed down our eyelids, and wrapped 

 in our blankets past and future were forgotten. 



Next morning, as the tips of the western mountains 

 were lighted up with the first rays of the rising sun, we 

 woke from our lairs, shook off the wreaths of frost, and 

 joyfully inhaled the fresh morning air ; it was bitter 

 cold, the water in our tin cups was all frozen, as was the 

 meat ; but a breakfast fit for a prince was soon smoking 

 before us juicy venison, fat turkey, good strong coffee, 

 and maize bread. Where was the hotel that could afford 

 fare as good ? but man is fated never to be satisfied 

 my companion sighed for bear. 



