"As to myself," said Younker, in reply to some observation of the stranger, "as to myself and family, we've been extremely fortunate in 'scaping the red foe—though I've bin daily fearful that when I went away to my work in the morning, I'd may be come back agin at noon or night and find my women folks gone, or murdered, and my cot in ashes; but, thank the Lord! I've been so far spared sech a heart rending sight."
"And had you no personal fears?" asked the stranger.
"I don't know's I understand you."
"Had you no fears for yourself individually?"
"Well, I can't say's I had," answered the other. "I'm an old man—or at least I'm in my second half century—and I've so endeavored to live, as not to fear to go at any moment when God sees fit, and by whatsomever means he may choose to take me."
"I suppose you now consider yourself in a measure safe from Indian encroachments?" observed the other.
"No man, stranger—I beg pardon, but I'd like to know your name!"
"Certainly, sir," answered the other, a little embarrassed. "My name is—is—Williams."
"Thank you! No man, Mr. Williams, ar justified in considering himself safe from Injens, in a country like this; but to tell the truth, I don't feel so fearful of 'em, as when I first come out here with my family, two year ago; though thar's no telling what may hap in the course o' two year more."
"And did you venture here at once on your arrival in this western country?"