this truth, unescapable, incontrovertible! It was theirs. They had
won!

The men had grown reckless now. Cruzatte, Labiche, Drouillard--all the
adventurers--sang as they traveled, gayer and more gay from day to
day.

Always the landscape had fascinating interest for them in its repeated
changes. They were in a different world. No one had seen the
mountains which they saw. The Rockies, the Bitter Roots--these they
had passed; and now they must yet pass through another range, this
time not by the toilsome process of foot or horse travel, but on the
strong flood of the river. The Columbia had made a trail for them
through the Cascades.

Down the stormy rapids they plunged exulting. Mount Hood, St. Helen's,
Rainier, Adams--all the lofty peaks of the great Cascades, so named at
a later date, appeared before them, around them, behind them, as they
swung into the last lap of their wild journey and headed down toward
the sea. Cruzatte, Labiche, Drouillard--all you others--time now,
indeed, for you to raise the song of the old voyageurs! None have come
so far as you--your paddles are wrinkling new waters. You are brave
men, every one, and yours is the reward of the brave!

Soon, so said the Indians, they would come to ships--canoes with trees
standing in them, on which teepees were hung.

"Me," said Cruzatte, "I never in my whole life was seen a sheep! I
will be glad for see wan now."

But they found no ship anywhere in the lower Columbia. All the shores
were silent, deserted; no vessel lay at anchor. Before them lay the
empty river, wide as a sea, and told no tales of what had been. They
were alone, in the third year out from home. Thousands of leagues they
had traveled, and must travel back again.

Here they saw many gulls. As to Columbus these birds had meant land,
to our discoverers they meant the sea. Forty miles below the last
village they saw it--rolling in solemn, white-topped waves beyond the
bar.

Every paddle ceased at its work, and the boats lay tossing on the
incoming waves. There was the end of the great trail. Yonder lay the
Pacific!

Meriwether Lewis turned and looked into the eyes of William Clark, who
sat at the bow of the next canoe. Each friend nodded to the other.
Neither spoke. The lips of both were tight.

"The big flag, Sergeant Gass!" said Lewis.

They turned ashore. There had been four mess fires at each encampment
thus far--those of the three sergeants and that of the officers; but
no