The young officer turned to his boat with a sigh as he saw the red warriors slip their arms about each other and slowly sink to the ground to die alone and unattended. Old Black Hawk sat in silent, stolid indifference to his fate until the curious settlers began to crowd on the boat and stare at his misery. The Lieutenant interfered with sharp decision. "Push those men back, Corporal!" he ordered angrily. The crowd was roughly pushed back and the Lieutenant took Black Hawk kindly by the arm and led him into a reserved apartment where he was free from vulgar eyes. The old man's lips tightened. He gazed at the officer steadily and spoke in measured tones: "The young war Chief treats me with much kindness. He is good and brave. He puts himself in my place and sees all that I suffer. With him I am much pleased." The Lieutenant bowed and left him under the protection of the guard. Courtesy to a fallen foe in the old days was the first obligation of an officer and a gentleman. In the autumn, Colonel Taylor again sent his Lieutenant on a distant duty--this time one of peculiar danger. He was ordered to Louisville and Lexington on recruiting service. And the cholera was known to be epidemic but a few miles from Lexington. The good-by scene that night at the lovers' trysting place, the little tent reception-room of the McCreas', was long and tender and solemn. "Oh, I feel dreadful about this trip, dear," his sweetheart kept repeating with pitiful despair that refused to be comforted. "You must be brave, my own," he answered with a frown. "A soldier's business is to die. I am a soldier. I go where duty calls--" "To battle--yes--but this black pestilence that comes in the night--I'm afraid--I just can't help it--I'm afraid. I've always had a horror of such things. I've a presentiment that you'll die that way--" "Presentiments and dreams go by opposites. I'll live to a ripe old age--" She looked up into his face with a tender smile: "You think so?" "Yes, why not?" "Well--I've something to tell you--" She paused and the man bent low. "What?" "I've made a vow to God--" the voice stopped with a sob--"that if He will only send you safely back to me this time--I'll wait no longer on my father's whim--I am yours--" The lover clasped her trembling form to his heart. "Good-by, dearest," he said at last. "I wish to go with that promise ringing in my soul." Ten days after he reached Lexington, the cholera broke out, and hundreds fled. He stood by his men, watched their diet, nursed the sick, and buried the dead. He helped the carpenter make the coffins and reverently bore the victims to their graves. No fear was in his soul. Love was chanting the anthem of Life. A strange new light was burning in the eyes of the woman he loved on the day he returned in safety. She seized his hand and spoke with decision: "Come with me." Her father was standing at the gate. She faced him, holding defiantly the hand of her lover.