Almost on the instant appeared an Indian mounted on a dark bay horse trotting towards us exclaiming, "How, how!" and holding out his hand in token of friendship.

His long black hair hung behind in two tails braided with red and black cotton cloth.
The scalp at the part was painted vermilion, and around each eye was a ring of the same bright colour.

His shirt was of the kind called hickory, and his leggins were of red woollen stuff.

Altogether he was a good looking specimen of his race, and about twenty-five years old.

How many more might be behind we could not tell.
He dismounted and Clem grasped him warmly by the hand, exclaiming with his most cordial smile, "Well, how are all the folks at home ?" to which the visitor of course made no answer.