Joe's love of the wilderness had in no wise diminished; but a blow on his head from a heavy tomahawk, and a vicious stab in the back, had lessened his zeal so far that he understood it was not wise to sacrifice life for the pleasures of the pathless woods.

He could have the last without the danger of being shot at from behind every tree.

He reasoned that it would be best for him to take his wife to Fort Henry, there find employment, and devote his leisure time to roaming in the forest.
"Will the palefaces be kind to an Indian who has learned to love them ?" Whispering Winds asked wistfully of Joe.
"Indeed they will," answered Joe, and he told her the story of Isaac Zane; how he took his Indian bride home; how her beauty and sweetness soon won all the white people's love.

"It will be so with you, my wife." "Whispering Winds knows so little," she murmured.
"Why, you are learning every day, and even if such was not the case, you know enough for me." "Whispering Winds will be afraid; she fears a little to go." "I'll be glad when we can be on the move," said Joe, with his old impatient desire for action.

"How soon, Winds, can we set off ?" "As many days," answered the Indian girl, holding up five fingers.
"So long?
I want to leave this place." "Leave Beautiful Spring ?" "Yes, even this sweet place.