As the days passed the girl seemed to be more and more pleased with the captain. One evening they sat on the bank of a stream, fishing. The sun had sunk beyond a distant hill, but continued to pour over his light, like a golden waterfall.
"Ansy," said the captain, "this is a beautiful and romantic country; but do you not grow tired of living here all the time?"
"If we don't know any other life we do not grow tired of this one," she replied.
"You are a little philosopher," the captain exclaimed.
"I don't know what that is, Captain, but if you want me to be one I will try to be."
The captain smiled and regarded her with a look of affection.
"The great cities would delight you for a time, Ansy, and then you could come back here with a heightened appreciation of the sublime surroundings of your own home."
"The sun has blown out his candle," she said, pointing. "It is time for us to go."
The captain could not sleep. He had extinguished his lamp, but on the wall there was a bright light. It grew brighter, and then he saw that it was the face of Ansy. A rap came at the door.
"Captain, for God's sake run away. The Glicks are coming after you."
The captain dressed himself and opened the door. The girl was gone. The moon was shining. The officer was not the man to run away. He closed the door, took up a repeating rifle and opened a small window. He waited. A few moments passed and he saw several men enter the clearing in front of the cabin.
"What do you want here?" the captain shouted.
"You may ask questions, but don't come a step nearer."
This reply created a commotion. The captain could hear the marauders swearing. "We'll break down the door," one of them said as he stepped forward. The next moment he had fallen to the ground. When the smoke cleared away the captain saw that the rascals were gone, but there soon came from the woods a shower of blazing arrows. It was time to get away. The captain made a hole in the roof, crawled out, sprang to the ground and hurried into the woods.
Early the next morning he went to Patterson's house. The family had heard of the fight.
"You neenter be 'larmed now, dough, sah," said Alf, the negro, "caze da foun' out dat you wuz er Newnited States ossifer, an' it skeered 'em putty nigh ter def. You gin it ter one o' 'em putty hard, I ken tell you. Shot him squar through, an' da doan think he gwine ter lib, da doan, but dat ain't no matter, fur he wuz de wust one in de bunch. Ef he dies, folks 'roun' yare will hol' er pra'r-meetin' thankin' de Lawd."