Produced by Charles Aldarondo, Keren Vergon, Lynn Bornath and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net [Illustration: Frontispiece.] GUY RIVERS: A TALE OF GEORGIA. BY W. GILMORE SIMMS, AUTHOR OF "THE YEMASSEE," "THE PARTISAN," "MELLICHAMPE," "KATHARINE WALTON," "THE SCOUT," "WOODCRAFT," ETC. "Who wants A sequel may read on. Th' unvarnished tale That follows will supply the place of one." ROGERS' _Italy_. New and Revised Edition. CHICAGO: DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. 407-425 DEARBORN STREET 1890 PRINTED AND BOUND BY DONOHUE & HENNEBERRY CHICAGO. GUY RIVERS CHAPTER I. THE STERILE PROSPECT AND THE LONELY TRAVELLER. Our scene lies in the upper part of the state of Georgia, a region at this time fruitful of dispute, as being within the Cherokee territories. The route to which we now address our attention, lies at nearly equal distances between the main trunk of the Chatahoochie and that branch of it which bears the name of the Chestatee, after a once formidable, but now almost forgotten tribe. Here, the wayfarer finds himself lost in a long reach of comparatively barren lands. The scene is kept from monotony, however, by the undulations of the earth, and by frequent hills which sometimes aspire to a more elevated title. The tract is garnished with a stunted growth, a dreary and seemingly half-withered shrubbery, broken occasionally by clumps of slender pines that raise their green tops abruptly, and as if out of place, against the sky. The entire aspect of the scene, if not absolutely blasted, wears at least a gloomy and discouraging expression, which saddens the soul of the most careless spectator. The ragged ranges of forest, almost untrodden by civilized man, the thin and feeble undergrowth, the unbroken silence, the birdless thickets,--all seem to indicate a peculiarly sterile destiny. One thinks, as he presses forward, that some gloomy Fate finds harbor in the place. All around, far as the eye may see, it looks in vain for relief in variety. There still stretch the dreary wastes, the dull woods, the long sandy tracts, and the rude hills that send out no voices, and hang out no lights for the encouragement of the civilized man. Such is the prospect that meets the sad and searching eyes of the wayfarer, as they dart on every side seeking in vain for solace.