I had been advised not to stop at any house on the borders, and would have proceeded on to Missouri, bivouacking during the night, had it not been that the rainy season had just commenced, and it was far from pleasant to pass the night exposed to the most terrific showers of rain that could be imagined.  When I arrived upon the St. Francis river, I found myself compelled by the state of the weather to stop at a parson’s—­I don’t know what particular sect he professed to belong to; but he was reputed to be the greatest hypocrite in the world, and the “smartest scoundrel” in the Arkansas.

My horse was put into the stable, my saddle into the hall, and I brought my saddle-bags into the sitting-room.  Then, as usual, I went to the well for a purification after my day’s ride.  To my astonishment, I found, on my return, that my saddlebags had already disappeared.  I had in them jewels and money to rather a considerable amount for a person in my position, and I inquired of a woman cooking in the next room what had become of them.  She answered she did not know, but that probably her father had put them out of the way.

I waited a long while, standing at the door, with no small anxiety, till at last I perceived the parson crossing an Indian-corn field, and coming towards the house.  I went to meet him, and asked what he had done with my saddle-bags; to which question he answered angrily, he did not know what I meant; that I had no saddle-bags when I came to his house; that he suspected I was a knowing one, but could not come round so old a fox as he was.

As by that time I was perfectly au fait to all the tricks of Arkansas smartness, I returned to the hall, took my pistols from the holsters, placed them in my belt, and, seizing my rifle, I followed his trail upon the soft ground of the fields.  It led me to a corn-house, and there, after an hour’s search, I found my lost saddle-bags.  I threw them upon my shoulders, and returned to the house just as a terrible shower had commenced.  When within fifteen yards from the threshold, the parson, with his wife and daughter, a pretty girl of sixteen, in tears, came up to me to apologize.  The mother declared the girl would be the death of her, and the parson informed me, with great humility, that his daughter, having entered the room, and seeing the saddle-bags, had taken and hidden them, believing that they belonged to her sweetheart, who was expected on a visit.  Upon this, the girl cried most violently, saying she only wished to play a trick to Charley.  She was an honest girl, and no thief.

I thought proper to pretend to be satisfied with this explanation and ordered my supper, and, shortly afterwards, to my great relief, new guests arrived; they were four Missourian planters, returning home from a bear-hunt in the swamps of the St. Francis.  One of them was a Mr. Courtenay, to whom I had a letter from Captain Finn, and, before the day had closed, I received a cordial invitation to go and stay with him for at least a week.