It was ten o'clock on the morning of the 19th, when, having made every necessary preparation, we left Mr. Bean's. I regretted the necessity of making a selection from my collection of minerals and geological specimens. We set out with great alacrity. For the first five miles, we passed over a level, fertile tract, with several plantations; the remaining thirteen miles were comparatively sterile and uneven, without settlements. We had passed about seventeen miles of the distance, when my right foot and ankle began to flinch. I was not sensible of any slip or sprain in walking, but rather believe it resulted from too much ardour and anxiety to get forward. I had, about four years previously, dislocated and injured the same ankle in leaping down a precipice in the Green mountains, having mistaken a granitical shelf of rock at its base, which was covered with autumnal leaves, for soft soil. I believe the suddenness and alacrity of this day's travel, after leaving the quietude of the canoe, had awakened a sympathy in the injured nerves. In a short time, the pain was unendurable. With great effort I walked a mile further, and reached a double log house, the mistress of which bathed the ankle with salt and water, and made other applications. Some alleviation, but no permanent relief, was obtained. I then laid down under the hope of being better, but awoke on the morning of the 20th with little or no abatement of the pain, and inflammation. A traveller on horseback, coming along that morning on a fine animal, agreed, for a small compensation, to let me ride to the south fork of Strawberry river, while he went afoot. This helped me over twelve miles of the road, where his path diverged; and I felt so much relieved by it, on dismounting, that I managed, by easy stages, to walk four miles farther, which brought us to the main river. The afternoon was not yet spent; but the pain of my ankle had returned before reaching the river, and I found it in vain to press forward, without adequate repose.
The next morning (21st), my travelling companion, who cared nothing for natural history or antiquities, and was urgent to push on, left me, and returned to St. Louis. Left alone, I felt, for a few moments, a sense of isolation; but I was now in a region where there was no longer any danger to be apprehended for the want of the first necessaries of life. My lameness required nothing, indeed, but perfect repose. The people were kind, and, when I ascertained that my hostess was a sister of one of the hunters who had guided me in the most remote parts of my wanderings in the Ozarks, there was a manifest point of sympathy.