But the red glory of the west was dying behind
the whitening cottonwoods and beyond the dense dark forest--reaching on
and on to the seeming end of the earth--a billowing sea of ever
deepening green. The last bright gleam of golden light was passing away
on the white sail of a little ship which was just turning the distant
bend, where the darkening sky bent low to meet the darkened wilderness.
The night was creeping from the woods to the waters as softly as the
wild creatures crept to the river's brim to drink before sleeping. The
still air was lightly stirred now and then by rushing wings, as the
myriad paroquets settled among the shadowy branches. The soft murmuring
of the reeds that fringed the shores told where the waterfowl had
already found resting-places. The swaying of the cane-brakes--near and
far--signalled the secret movements of the wingless wild things which
had only stealth to guard them against the cruelty of nature and against
one another. The heaviest waves of cane near the great Shawnee Crossing
might have followed a timid red deer.
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