"Like towers in cities beyond the common size of those of the Indians" rose the winter and summer houses and the huge trading house which the tribe had built for their best beloved friend in the town's center, because there he would be safest from attack.

On the rafters hung the smoked and barbecued delicacies taken in the hunt and prepared for him by his red servants, who were also his comrades at home and on the dangerous trail.

"Beloved old women" kept an eye on his small sons, put to drowse on panther skins so that they might grow up brave warriors.

Nothing was there of artifice or pretense, only "the needful things to make a reasonable life happy." All was as primitive, naive, and contented as the woman whose outline is given once in a few strokes, proudly and gayly penciled: "I have the pleasure of writing this by the side of a Chikkasah female, as great a princess as ever lived among the ancient Peruvians or Mexicans, and she bids me be sure not to mark the paper wrong after the manner of most of the traders; otherwise it will spoil the making good bread or homony!" His final chapter is the last news of James Adair, type of the earliest trader.

Did his bold attacks on corrupt officials and rum peddlers--made publicly before Assemblies and in print--raise for him a dense cloud of enmity that dropped oblivion on his memory?
Perhaps.