upon the instant. Laughing, talking,
ejaculating, weeping in their joy, the people of St. Louis hurried out
to meet the men whose voyage meant so much.

At last they saw them coming, the paddles flashing in unison in the
horny hands which tirelessly drove the boats along the river. They
could see them--men with long beards, clad in leggings of elk hide,
moccasins of buffalo and deer; their head-dresses those of the
Indians, their long hair braided. And see, in the prow of the foremost
craft sat two men, side by side--Lewis and Clark, the two friends who
had arisen as if from the grave!

"Present arms!" rang out a sharp command, as the boats lined up along
the wharf.

The brown and scarred rifles came to place.

"Aim! Fire!"

The volley of salutation blazed out even with the chorus of the
voyageurs' cheers. And cheers repeated and unceasing greeted them as
they stepped from their boats to the wharf. In an instant they were
half overpowered.

"Come with me!"

"No, with me!"

"With me!"

A score of eager voices of the first men of St. Louis claimed the
privilege of hospitality for them. It was almost by force that Pierre
Chouteau bore them away to his castle on the hill. And always
questions, questions, came upon them--ejaculations, exclamations.

"_Ma foi!_" exclaimed more than one pretty French maiden. "Such
men--such splendid men--savages, yet white! See! See!"

They had gone away as youths, these two captains; they had come back
men. Four thousand miles out and back they had gone, over a country
unmapped, unknown; and they brought back news--news of great, new
lands. Was it any wonder that they stood now, grave and dignified,
feeling almost for the first time the weight of what they had done?

They passed over the boat-landing and across the wharf, approaching
the foot of the rocky bluff above which lay the long street of St.
Louis. Silent, as was his wont, Meriwether Lewis had replied to most
of the greetings only with the smile which so lighted up his face. But
now, suddenly, he ceased even to smile. His eye rested not upon the
faces of those acclaiming friends, but upon something else beyond
them.

Yes, there it was--the old fur-shed, the storage-house of the traders
here on the wharf, just as he had left it two years before! The door
was closed. What lay beyond it?

Lewis shuddered, as if caught with chill, as he looked at yonder door.
Just there she had stood, more than two years ago, when he s