What meant suffering to him, if he could but rescue Alice? And
what were life should he fail to rescue her? The old, old song
hummed in his heart, every phrase of it distinct above the tumult
of the storm. Could cold and hunger, swollen streams, ravenous
wild beasts and scalp-hunting savages baffle him? No, there is no
barrier that can hinder love. He said this over and over to
himself after his rencounter with the four Indian scouts on the
Wabash. He repeated it with every heart-beat until he fell in with
some friendly red men, who took him to their camp, where to his
great surprise he met M. Roussillon. It was his song when again he
strode off toward the west on his lonely way.
We need not follow him step by step; the monotony of the woods and
prairies, the cold rains, alternating with northerly winds and
blinding snow, the constant watchfulness necessary to guard
against a meeting with hostile savages, the tiresome tramping,
wading and swimming, the hunger, the broken and wretched sleep in
frozen and scant wraps,--why detail it all?
There was but one beautiful thing about it--the beauty of Alice as
she seemed to walk beside him and hover near him in his dreams. He
did not know that Long-Hair and his band were fast on his track;
but the knowledge could not have urged him to greater haste. He
strained every muscle to its utmost, kept every nerve to the
highest tension.
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