The Free Rangers: A Story of Early Days, Along the Mississippi (Classic Reprint)

Straight up stood the mighty trunks, but the leaves rippled and sang low when a gentle south wind breathed upon them. It was the forest as God made it, the magnificent valley of North A merica, upon whose edges the white man had just begun to nibble. A young man, stepping lightly, came into -a little glade. He was white, but he brought with him no alien air. He was in full harmony with the primeval woods, a part of them, one in whose ears the soft song of the leaves was a familiar and loved tune. He was lean, but tall, and he walked with a wonder ful swinging gait that betokened a frame wrought to the strength of steel by exercise, wind, weather, and life always in the open. Though his face was browned by sun and storm his hair was yellow and his eyes blue.
(Typographical errors above are due to OCR software and don't occur in the book.)

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