I cannot help thinking that circumstances have somewhat exalted his usual cheerfulness.

He puts me at my ease by at once addressing me: "These are high old times, ain't they?
I say, what do you reckon's become o' them thar bound'ry moniments you stuck?
Ah!" The pause which succeeds this outburst is the effect of a spasm of admiration at a pair of high boots, which, by great exertion, he has at last pulled on his feet.
"So you've picked up the ole man in the shanty, clean crazy?
He must have been soft to have stuck there instead o' leavin' with the old woman.

Didn't know me from Adam; took me for George!" At this affecting instance of paternal forgetfulness, Wise was evidently divided between amusement and chagrin.

I took advantage of the contending emotions to ask about George.
"Don't know whar he is! If he'd tended stock instead of running about the prairie, packin' off wimmin and children, he might have saved suthin.

He lost every hoof and hide, I'll bet a cooky! Say you," to a passing boatman, "when are you goin' to give us some grub?
I'm hungry 'nough to skin and eat a hoss.