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ORE than a dozen years had passed away. And what years! I had gone through almost every stage and experience of human life. I had gone far out and away from my life in the mountains among the Indians. I had come to look upon it as upon the life of another. It seemed to be no longer a part of my nature or myself, much as I loved it and fondly as I cherished the memory of the dead days and their dead. Irresistibly I was drawn to return at the first possible opportunity, and now in the yellow autumn I was nearing my old home. The narrow trails were no longer in use. A broad stage road was hewn from out the mountain-sides, and we dashed through the forests as if on the highway of an old civilization.

I was an utter stranger to all. I saw no familiar faces among the few worthless Indians about the stations, and no white man suspected that I had once held dominion in all that wild and splendid region.