It was a foretaste of Paradise to the women, for it
must be confessed that the white rovers gave far better care and
treatment of them than did their Indian copartners. Of course,
the white men themselves were satisfied with such deals, as were
also the Indian men for that matter. Having sold their daughters
and sisters for cotton blankets and obsolete rifles and traded
their warm furs for flimsy calico and bad whisky, the sons of the
soil promptly and cheerfully succumbed to quick consumption and
other swift diseases correlated with the blessings of a superior
civilization.
It was in these days of Arcadian simplicity that Cal Galbraith
journeyed through the land and fell sick on the Lower River. It
was a refreshing advent in the lives of the good Sisters of the
Holy Cross, who gave him shelter and medicine; though they little
dreamed of the hot elixir infused into his veins by the touch of
their soft hands and their gentle ministrations. Cal Galbraith,
became troubled with strange thoughts which clamored for
attention till he laid eyes on the Mission girl, Madeline. Yet he
gave no sign, biding his time patiently. He strengthened with the
coming spring, and when the sun rode the heavens in a golden
circle, and the joy and throb of life was in all the land, he
gathered his still weak body together and departed.
Pages:
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149