“It was before the tremendous civil war had broken out in America, Ben, and I was very young and just a bit romantic. Perhaps I really was in love with dear Miriam. At all events, there was nothing I would not have done for her, and I was never so perfectly, so serenely happy as when in her sweet presence. But everyone loved Miriam, ay, every slave about the place, and every beast and every bird. The wandering Indians that occasionally came around looked upon her as some being better than themselves, and I believe that even when they were on the war-path she might have gone to their camps, or to their fastnesses in the wilderness, and need have dreaded nought of ill.
“It came to pass that Miriam was invited to spend a week at the house of a friend who lived some twenty miles from the old mansion.
“Her father took her over, and—for sake of the drive we shall say, Ben—I went along with him. I never enjoyed any drive so much, at all events. At the end of the week, as my host was not over well, I boldly volunteered to go alone for Miriam, and my proposition was accepted.
“I should sleep one night at the house where she had gone, and together we should drive home next day. I knew every foot of the road and every feature of the scenery; even should we be belated, there would be bright moonlight. At any time, a ride through the forests and hills of the far West, when the full moon is shining down from a clear sky, is a treat to be remembered, but with such companionship as I should enjoy, why, it is bliss, Ben, and nothing less.
“Now, something out of the common occurred on the very day I left to bring Miriam home. It was this: both Joliffe and Shoe-Sally were missed. Poor Tom was disconsolate in the extreme, and went about all the forenoon with tears coursing along his nose, almost as big as the silver buttons he wore on his jacket.
“That same day at noon a strange meeting took place between two braves, apparently Indians, in one of the deepest and darkest nooks of the great forest. The spot was on the brink of a deep canon almost filled up with fallen trees, the result of some terrible storm.
“One savage, who evidently belonged to the warlike Apaches, and was a chief, sat quietly and meditatively smoking. The other leaned upon his club, and did all the talking, and this most energetically.
“‘Ugh!’ said the sitting chief; ‘but the paleface and I am at peace. I like it not. I care not for his scalp.’
“‘But think of the gold I offer you,’ said his companion; ‘think of the fire-water it will buy you. You will be happy for ever with such wealth and riches, and think of the prize. You are a great chief, this paleface girl will be brighter than the sunshine in your wigwam, sweeter far than the wild bee’s honey. Think.’