gasconade

My first night from Rolla was passed on the banks of the Gasconade.

After a ride of thirteen miles we reached the Gasconade River, which we found considerably swollen by recent rains.

My gasconade delighted the old lady and she gave me a heap of sweetmeats to recover her place in my good graces.

This is a fourth of a mile up the river from the bridge crossing the Gasconade, 2½ miles east of Vienna.