He endeavored to make his way through Sawney's Mountain, where many meet
to catch the gales that are continually blowing for the refreshment
of the stranger and the traveler. Surrounded as he was by hills
on every side, naked rocks dared the efforts of his energies.
Soon the sky became overcast, the sun buried itself in the clouds,
and the fair day gave place to gloomy twilight, which lay heavily
on the Indian Plains. He remembered an old Indian Castle,
that once stood at the foot of the mountain. He thought if he could
make his way to this, he would rest contented for a short time.
The mountain air breathed fragrance--a rosy tinge rested on the glassy
waters that murmured at its base. His resolution soon brought him
to the remains of the red man's hut: he surveyed with wonder and
astonishment the decayed building, which time had buried in the dust,
and thought to himself, his happiness was not yet complete.
Beside the shore of the brook sat a young man, about eighteen or twenty,
who seemed to be reading some favorite book, and who had a remarkably
noble countenance--eyes which betrayed more than a common mind.
This of course made the youth a welcome guest, and gained him
friends in whatever condition of life he might be placed.
The traveler observed that he was a well-built figure, which showed
strength and grace in every movement. He accordingly addressed
him in quite a gentlemanly manner, and inquired of him the way
to the village.
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