Randall Parrish,
When Wilderness was King: A Tale of the Illinois Country
“ That oarless boat, beached amid the desolation of sand and the waste of water, alone told a story to make the heart sick. I hesitated, not knowing what I had best say. She lifted her head slowly, and gazed at me. I caught one glimpse of a pale young face framed in masses of black dishevelled hair, and saw large dark eyes that seemed to glow with a strange fire."You,—you cannot be a devil also," she said, stammeringly. "You do not look like those others,—are you a man?"I bowed in silence, astounded by her words and appearance."Yet you are not of the garrison,—not of Dearborn. ”
