Sixty miles from Benton, their horses jaded with travel, the two men stopped at the Government farm on Sun River for a few days’ rest. In this secluded valley they were out of the way of pursuers. Carpeted with bunch grass, it afforded grazing for their half-starved horses, and in Mr. Vail, the man in charge of the farm, they found a very hospitable host. Divided centrally by the large and peaceful river, the valley stretched away on either side to numberless plateaus, remarkable for the uniform height and tabular recession with which they rose to the summits of the lofty foothills, which in their turn swelled gradually into a circumference of heaven-kissing mountains. Nothing but a few forests were wanting to make the scene one of unparalleled grandeur. These were measurably supplied by the parks of cottonwood which stretched along either bank of the river, affording shelter for the herds of elk, antelope, and deer that roamed unharmed over the boundless solitude. Here, sheltered by the arms of kind relatives, Henry Plummer first saw the only being which inspired his bosom with virtuous love. A young, innocent, and beautiful girl, artless and loving as a child, won by his attention and gentlemanly deportment, and the tale, seductive as that poured by the serpent into the ear of Eve, which he told of his love, against the advice of her sister and friends, crowned his happiness with her heart and hand. No stories of his past career, no terrible picture of the future, no tears and petitions, could stay the sacrifice. She felt the sentiment so beautifully expressed by Moore, “I know not, I ask not, if guilt’s in that heart, I but know that I love thee, whatever thou art,”— and under its influence she linked her fortunes with those of the robber, murderer, and outlaw, in the holiest of human ties. A quarrel, of which this young lady was the innocent cause, took place between Plummer and Cleveland before the marriage of the former. Their old friendship was never reëstablished. Often during their residence at Sun River an exchange of bitter epithets only relieved their pent-up wrath. Afraid of each other, neither would leave the farm alone. Accordingly they went to Bannack in company, early in the Winter of 1862–63. There we will leave them while we return to Florence to inquire after the fortunes of Cherokee Bob, whom we left a few chapters ago “settled in business.” CHAPTER IX DESERTION OF MINING CAMPS