them, but alarmed.  This surprise seemed to increase when they saw the young savage rapidly filling, upon the counter, a sheet of paper.  They desisted from their shopping, and watched intently the wild savage.  When his letter was completed, he politely desired the accommodating merchant to send it for him to the post-office.  Then lifting his gray wolf-skin cap from his head, he bowed politely to the ladies and turned to leave the store and their presence.  The salutation was gracefully acknowledged, and especially by the matron.  Very soon they joined the curious crowd who were examining the contents of the canoe, now placed on the land to await the coming of a steamer that was freighting with cotton above.  One of the young ladies seemed much interested and made many inquiries.  A bow and quiver was given into her hand.  The latter was fashioned from the skin of a Mexican tiger, and was filled with arrows.  One of these was bloody, and its history was asked of the youth she had met in the store.  It was the blood of a Pawnee chief who, by this arrow, had been slain in battle, and was the gift to the youth from the daughter of the fallen chief, together with the bow and quiver of the Indian who had slain her father, and who was in turn killed by a chief of her tribe.

How beautiful she was to this wanderer of the wilderness!  Months upon months had passed away, and he had only looked upon the blank and unmeaning features of the desert savage woman.  With these his heart had no sympathy.  Like the panther of their plains they were swift of foot, symmetrical in form, wild, untamed and untamable, fierce and unfeeling; and were not formed by nature for sympathy or social union with the higher organizations of civilized man.  His dream of romance was being realized.  The vacuum in his heart was filling.  How in contrast were his feelings and appearance!  Clad as a savage, his skin was covered with the fabric of an Indian woman, closely fitting, with moccasins on his feet, and a gray wolf-skin cap upon his head—­his long, black hair with the luxuriant growth of two years curling over his shoulders, and his beard, like the wing of night fluttering in the breeze, waving down from his chin to his breast in ringlets, glossy and beautiful.  He was lithe as a savage, and seemed to be one.  In his heart were kindling soft emotions, and memories of maidens he had known—­now far, far away—­came crowding upon that heart.  Before him stood the embodiment of beauty and grace, attired with costly and beautiful fabrics which flowed about her person like the white vapor upon the breezes of spring.  Elegance was in her every attitude, and grace in every movement.  Her features and her eyes beamed with a curious wish to learn the story of the strange wild being before her.  Their two hearts were in sympathy; but to each other it was a secret.  How strangely they had met!  How strangely they were feeling!  How soon they were to part!  “Where is he from?  Where is he going?” asked her eyes; and he looked:  “Who are you; and where is your home, beautiful being, so strangely and so unexpectedly met?”