ry man in the encampment.
Ordway, Pryor, Gass--each of the three sergeants slept by his own mess
fire, his squad around him. McNeal, Bratton, Shields, Cruzatte, Reuben
Fields, Goodrich, Whitehouse, Coalter, Shannon--the captain knew where
each lay, rolled up like a mummy. He had marked each when he threw
down his bed-roll that night; for Meriwether Lewis was a leader of
men, and no detail escaped him.

He passed now, stealthy as an Indian, along the rows of sleeping
forms. His moccasined foot made no sound. Save for his uniform coat,
he was clad as a savage himself; and his alert eye, his noiseless
foot, might have marked him one. He sought some one of these--and he
knew where lay the man he wished to find.

He stood beside him silently at last, looking down at the sleeping
figure. The man lay a little apart from the others, for he was to
stand second watch that night, and the second guard usually slept
where he would not disturb the others when awakened for his turn of
duty.

This man--he was long and straight in his blankets, and filled them
well--suddenly awoke, and lay staring up. He had not been called, no
hand had touched him, it was not yet time for guard relief; but he had
felt a presence, even as he slept.

He stared up at a tall and motionless figure looking down. With a
swift movement he reached for his rifle; but the next instant, even as
he lay, his hand went to his forehead in salute. He was looking up
into the face of his commander!

"Shannon!" He heard a hoarse voice command him. "Get up!"

George Shannon, the youngest of the party, sprang out of his bed half
clad.

"Captain!" He saluted again. "What is it, sir?" he half whispered, as
if in apprehension.

"Put on your jacket, Shannon. Come with me!"

Shannon obeyed hurriedly. Half stripped, he stood a fine figure of
young manhood himself, lithe, supple, yet developed into rugged
strength by his years of labor on the trail.

"What is it, Captain?" he inquired once more.

They were apart from the others now, in the shadows beyond Lewis's
fire. Shannon had caught sight of his leader's countenance, noting the
wildness of its look, its drawn and haggard lines.

His commander's hand thrust in his face a clutch of papers,
folded--letters, they seemed to be. Shannon could see the trembling of
the hand that held them.

"You know what I want, Shannon! I want the rest of these--I want the
last one of them! Give it to me now!"

The youth felt on