"Now, Edward, when you arrive at Penddleton, by all means make an immediate effort to discover the whereabouts of Dr. DeWolf. I should much like to hear from your father's early friend. I think he states, in the only letter we have ever received from him, that he has fixed his home at Chimney Rock, in the vicinity of Pendleton. However, he may have removed from there by this time, although he was not of a roving disposition. The persuasions of an affectionate wife, who saw with anxiety, her husband's growing love for the wine cup, induced him to emigrate to the far West. In breaking away from the associations which led him to form the habit, she hoped he might attain that rank in his profession, which his brilliant youth had promised. Edward," and here Mrs. Sherman's voice sank to a whisper, "your father was saved about that time. It was by signing the Washingtonian Temperance Pledge. Be warned, my son, and flee the temptation which had well nigh stigmatized you as a drunkard's son. I have always intended to tell you this, but the subject was too harrowing. I could not do it." "You might have saved yourself the pain, now, mother," said Edward proudly; "There is no danger of _me_." That positive declaration came from just such a son, as many a widowed mother and affectionate sister have doted on. Generous, warm-hearted, and strikingly handsome, Edward Sherman, appeared a perfect type of manhood. Were it not that the noblest forms have sometimes hid blemished souls the world had not so often been baptized in tears. The lovers were now at hand. Time had flown with them on a "dove's wings," and its flutterings lightened their last adieu. CHAPTER II. PENDLETON--THE REVELATION AT THE SALOON--EUPHONIOUS NAMES--THE ENCOUNTER--OUR HEROINE APPEARS AND HIGHWAYMEN DISAPPEAR. A journey of a few days brought our travellers to the lively, bustling village, which for convenience we have named Pendleton, situated on the Upper Mississippi. After several hours of rest and refreshment at their hotel, they sallied out to enjoy a pedestrian excursion in the cool of the day. Not much of the place of their sojourn was visible. Gaslight, had not wandered so far from its birthplace. The enterprising inhabitants, however, had manufactured an article by the same name, but it was never known to generate light. The wagging of the machinery was all that came of it. "Lager Beer," pronounced Edward Sherman, glancing at the gilt letters, that stood out in bold relief on the illumined window of a fashionable saloon, which they were at the moment passing. "Yes, lager beer," repeated George Goodrich, musingly. "Ned, what a nation of beer drinkers we are becoming. Not at the east only, but these western towns seem to have a beer saloon at every corner."