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Various

"The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 07, No. 44, June, 1861 Creator"

The design was evident. Indians (the women, at least) have
some curiosity;--they thought _me painted white_. I forgave them.
We went five hundred miles from this lodge into the wilderness,--two of
the squaws accompanying us, for my comfort.
At last came the sight of buffaloes, feeding on the short tufts of grass
on the Grand Prairie. My heart grew sick with the shout that rang from a
hundred Indian throats, and--must I write it?--from Saul's.
"Stay!" said Saul, and he left me a guard, and was away without one word
of farewell.
Night came down, and he was not returned. The stars shone out of the
vault like "red-hot diamonds," and on the sight no vision, to the ear no
sound.
The women pitched my tent. The guard lit the fire. They brought me
savory bits of food, and coffee. My throat was tightened, I could not
eat, and I arose and went out into the night alone. I lost all sense of
fear, as I wandered away. The prairie had just been burned, and I knew
must be free from serpents and other reptiles: beyond these I had no
thought. I turned once to see the little dot of fire-light, to see the
one point of canvas, my shelter and my home.


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