Pursuing the brow of the precipice about a mile, a log building and some fields were discovered on the opposite bank. On descending the path whose traces we had followed, it brought us to a ford. We at once prepared to cross the river, which was four or five hundred yards wide, reaching, in some places, half-leg high. On ascending the opposite bank, we came to the house of a Mr. M'Garey, who received us with an air of hospitality, and made us welcome to his abode. He had several grown sons, who were present, and who, as we found by their costume and conversation, were hunters. Mrs. M'G. was engaged in trying bears' fat, and in due time she invited us to sit down to a meal of these scraps, with excellent corn-bread and sassafras tea, with sugar and milk, served in cups.
M'Garey had a bluff frankness of manner, with an air of independence in the means of living, and an individuality of character, which impressed us favorably. He told us that we were eight hundred miles west of the Mississippi by the stream, that White river was navigable by keel-boats for this distance, and that there were several settlements on its banks. He had several acres in cultivation in Indian corn, possessed horses, cows, and hogs, and, as we observed at the door, a hand-mill. At a convenient distance was a smokehouse, where meats were preserved. I observed a couple of odd volumes of books on a shelf. He was evidently a pioneer on the Indian land. He said that the Cherokees had been improperly located along the western bank of White river, extending to the Arkansas, and that the effect was to retard and prevent the purchase and settlement of the country by the United States. He complained of this, as adverse to the scattered hunters, who were anxious to get titles for their lands. He did not represent the Cherokees as being hostile, or as having committed any depredations. But he depicted the Osages as the scourge and terror of the country. They roamed from the Arkansas to the Missouri frontier, and pillaged whoever fell in their way. He detailed the particulars of a robbery committed in the very house we were sitting in, when they took away horses, clothes, and whatever they fancied. They had visited him in this way twice, and recently stole from him eight beaver-skins; and during their last foray in the valley, they had robbed one of his neighbors, called Teen Friend, of all his arms, traps, and skins, and detained him a prisoner. This tribe felt hostile to all the settlers on the outskirts of Missouri and Arkansas, and were open robbers and plunderers of all the whites who fell defenceless into their hands. They were, he thought, particularly to be dreaded in the region which we proposed to explore. He also said that the Osages were hostile to the newly-arrived Cherokees, who had migrated from the east side of the Mississippi, and had settled in the country between the Red river and Arkansas, and that these tribes were daily committing trespasses upon each other. Having myself, but a short time before, noticed the conclusion of a peace between the western Cherokees and Osages at St. Louis, before General Clark, I was surprised to hear this; but he added, as an illustration of this want of faith, that when the Cherokees returned from that treaty, they pursued a party of Osages near the banks of White river, and stole twenty horses from them.
Dec. 8th. On comparing opinions, for which purpose we had an interview outside the premises, it seemed that these statements were to be received with some grains of allowance. They were natural enough for a victim of Indian robberies, and doubtless true; but the events had not been recent, and they were not deemed sufficient to deter us from proceeding in our contemplated tour to the higher Ozarks at the sources of the river. It was evident that we had erred a good deal from our stick bridge at Calamarca, from the proper track; but we were nevertheless determined not to relinquish our object.
Having obtained the necessary information, we determined to pursue our way, for which purpose we turned the horse to graze with M'Garey's, rid ourselves of all our heavy baggage by depositing it with him, and prepared our knapsacks for this new essay. When ready, our host refused to take any pay for his hospitalities, but, conducting us to his smokehouse, opened the door, and then, drawing his knife from its sheath, placed it, with an air of pomposity, in my hand, offering the handle-end, and said, "Go in and cut." I did so, taking what appeared to be sufficient to last us to our next expected point of meeting hunters. The place was well filled with buffalo and bear meat, both smoked and fresh, hanging on cross-bars.
At nine o'clock we bade our kind entertainer adieu, and, taking directions to reach Sugar-loaf Prairie, crossed over the river by the same ford which we had taken in our outward track from Camp No, in the valley of the Great North Fork. Relieved from the toilsome task of leading the horse, we ascended the opposite cliffs with alacrity, and vigorously pursued our course, over elevated ground, for about sixteen miles. The path then became obscure; the ground was so flinty and hard, that it was in vain we searched for tracks of horses' feet. Some time was lost in this search, and we finally encamped in a cane bottom in the river valley.
My companion had again charged himself with the coffeepot, which he carried in a similar manner at his back; and when I came to open my pack, told me he thought I had not cut deep enough into the dried bear's meat of M'Garey's smokehouse. To a man who refused all pay, and had been invariably kind, I felt that moderation, in this respect, was due. I was, besides, myself to be the carrier of it; and we, indeed, never had cause to regret the carefulness of my selection.
Dec. 9th. Finding ourselves in the river's bottom, we forced our way, with no small effort, through the thick growth of cane and vines. We had, perhaps, advanced seven miles through this dense vegetation, when we suddenly burst into a small cleared space. Here, in a little, incomplete shanty, we found a woman and her young child. She had not a morsel to eat, and looked half famished. Her husband had gone into the forest to hunt something to eat. The child looked feeble. We were touched at the sight, and did all we could to relieve them. They had been in that position of new-comers about two weeks, having come up from the lower parts of the river.
From this point, we ascended the river hills eastwardly, and pursued our journey along an elevated range to the Sugar-loaf Prairie—a name which is derived from the striking effects of denudation on the limestone cliffs, which occupy the most elevated positions along this valley. We were received with blunt hospitality by a tall man in leather, called Coker, whose manner appears to be characteristic of the hunter. Our approach was heralded by the usual loud and long barking of dogs, and we found the premises surrounded by the invariable indications of a successful hunter—skins of the bear and other animals, stretched out on frames to dry.
We were no sooner at home with our entertainer, than he began to corroborate what we had before heard of the hostility of the Osages. He considered the journey at this season hazardous, as he thought they had not yet broke up their fall hunting-camps, and retired to their villages on the Grand Osaw (Osage). He also thought it a poor season for game, and presented a rather discouraging prospect to our view. My gun having proved useless, we tried to obtain a rifle which he possessed, and seemed willing to part with, but not at a reasonable price.
Mr. Coker represented the settlers of Sugar-loaf Prairie to consist of four families, situated within the distance of eight miles, including both banks of the river. This was exclusive of two families living at Beaver creek, the highest point yet occupied.