Betty Zane by Zane Grey

The following afternoon the sun shone fair and warm; the sweet smell of the tanbark pervaded the air; and the birds sang their gladsome songs. The scene before the grim, battle-scarred old fort was not without its picturesqueness. The low vine-covered cabins on the hillside looked more like picture houses than like real habitations of men; the mill with its burned-out roofa reminder of the Indians -- and its great wheel, now silent and still, might have been from its lonely and dilapidated appearance a hundred years old.

On a little knoll carpeted with velvety grass sat Isaac and his Indian bride. He had selected this vantage point because it afforded a fine view of the green square where the races and the matches were to take place. Admiring women stood around him and gazed at his wife. They gossiped in whispers about her white skin, her little hands, her beauty. The girls stared with wide open and wondering eyes. The youngsters ran round and round the little group; they pushed each other over, and rolled in the long grass, and screamed with delight.