Dawn in truth was silvering the valley, and in the clear pure light it stood forth in all its beauty and peace. It was filled, too, with life. Besides the buffaloes they saw deer, elk, swarming small game, and an immense number of singing birds. The morning was alive with their song and when they came to the deep creek, and saw a fish leap up now and then, the shiftless one no longer had the slightest doubt.
"It's shorely the Garden," he said. "Listen to them birds, Henry. Did you ever hear so many at one time afore, all singin' together ez ef every one wuz tryin' to beat every other one?"
"No, Sol, I haven't. It is certainly a beautiful place. Look at the beds of wild flowers in bloom."
"An' the game is so tame it ain't skeered at us a bit. I reckon, Henry, that 'till we came no human foot hez ever trod this valley, since Adam an' Eve had to go."
"Maybe not, Sol! Maybe not," said Henry, trying to smile at the shiftless one's fancy, but failing.
"An' thar's one thing I want to ask o' you, Henry. Thar's millions an' millions an' billions an' billions o' acres in this country that belong to nobody, but I want to put in a sort o' claim o' my own on the Garden o' Eden here. Thar are times when every man likes to be all by hisself, fur a while. You know how it is yourself, Henry. Jest rec'lect then that the Garden is mine. When I'm feelin' bad, which ain't often, I'll come here an' set down 'mong the flowers, an' hear all them birds sing, same ez Adam an' Eve heard 'em, an' d'rectly I'll feel glad an' strong ag'in."
"Where there's so much unused country you ask but little, Sol. It's your Garden of Eden. But you'll let the rest of us come into it sometimes, won't you?"
"Shorely! Shorely! I didn't mean to be selfish about it. I've got some venison in my knapsack, Henry, an' I reckon you hev some too. I'd like to hev it warm, but it's too dangerous to build a fire. S'pose we set, an' eat."
The soil of the valley was so fertile that the grass was already high enough to hide them, when they lay down near the edge of the creek. There they ate their venison and listened to the musical tinkle of the rushing water, while the sun rose higher, and turned the luminous silver of the valley into luminous gold. They heard light footfalls of the deer moving, and the birds sang on, but there was no human sound in the valley. Their great adventure, the Indian camp, and the manifold dangers seemed to float away for the time. If it was not the Garden of Eden it was another garden of the same kind, and it looked very beautiful to these two who had spent most of the night running for their lives. They were happy, as they ate venison and the last crumbs of their bread.
"If the others wuz here," said Shif'less Sol, "nothin' would be lackin'. I'm in love with the wilderness more an' more every year, Henry. One reason is 'cause I'm always comin' on somethin' new. I ain't no tied-down man. Here I've dropped into the Garden o' Eden that's been lost fur thousands o' years, an' tomorrow I may be findin' some other wonder. I rec'lect my feelin' the first time I saw the Ohio, an' I've looked too upon the big river that the warriors call the Father o' Waters. I'm always findin' some new river or creek or lake. Nothin's old, or all trod up or worn out. Some day I'm goin' way out on them plains that you've seed, Henry, where the buff'ler are passin' millions strong. I tell you I love to go with the wind, an' at night, when I ain't quite asleep, to hear it blowin' an' blowin', an' tellin' me that the things I've found already may be fine, but thar's finer yet farther on. I hear Paul talkin' 'bout the Old World, but thar can't be anythin' in it half ez fine ez all these woods in the fall, jest blazin' with red an' yellow, an' gold an' brown, an' the air sparklin' enough to make an old man young."