Presently
two men halted near us for a single moment, and one said to the other:
"Harris, if you'll do that for me, I'll never forget you, my boy."
My new comrade's eye lighted pleasantly. The words had touched upon a
happy memory, I thought. Then his face settled into thoughtfulness
--almost into gloom. He turned to me and said,
"Let me tell you a story; let me give you a secret chapter of my life
--a chapter that has never been referred to by me since its events
transpired. Listen patiently, and promise that you will not interrupt
me."
I said I would not, and he related the following strange adventure,
speaking sometimes with animation, sometimes with melancholy, but always
with feeling and earnestness.
THE STRANGER'S NARRATIVE
"On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from St. Louis on the evening
train bound for Chicago. There were only twenty-four passengers, all
told. There were no ladies and no children. We were in excellent
spirits, and pleasant acquaintanceships were soon formed. The journey
bade fair to be a happy one; and no individual in the party, I think, had
even the vaguest presentiment of the horrors we were soon to undergo.
"At 11 P.m. it began to snow hard. Shortly after leaving the small
village of Welden, we entered upon that tremendous prairie solitude that
stretches its leagues on leagues of houseless dreariness far away toward
the jubilee Settlements.
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