"Rockwood!" I exclaimed, startled by his answer.
"Yes; my mother was his sister."
"What was his other name?"
"Matthew. He left Illinois before I was born; but my mother heard from him about ten years ago. Somebody—I don't know who it was—saw him at a wood-yard, and he sent word by this person that he was alive and well, but did not think he should ever come back to Illinois. His name was Matthew Rockwood. Did you ever hear of such a man?"
"I have, and I knew him well."
"You don't say so!" replied he, astonished in his turn. "Where is the place?"
"On the Missouri, between Bear and Fish Creeks."
"Well, I don't know any better now than I did before. What was the old man doing?"
"He has been hunting, trapping, and selling wood; but he is not living now."