Part Two Chapter 7 The Mountains

"You are right," said he at length. "Forgive me if for a moment--just a moment--I seemed to question the possibility of going forward. Give me a night to sleep. As I said, I am worn out. If I ever see Mr. Jefferson again, I shall tell him that all the credit for this expedition rests with you. I shall say that once I wavered, and that I had no cause. You do not waver--yet I know what excuse you would have for it."

"You are only weary, Will. It is my turn now," said Meriwether Lewis; and he never told his friend of this last letter.

A moment later he had called one of his men.

"McNeal," said he, "get Reuben Fields, Whitehouse, and Goodrich. Make light packs. We are going into the mountains!"

The four men shortly appeared, but they were silent, morose, moody. Those who were to remain in the camp shared their silence. Sacajawea alone smiled as they departed.

"That way!" said she, pointing; and she knew that her chief would find the path.

May we not wonder, in these later days, if any of us, who reap so carelessly and so selfishly where others have plowed and sown, reflect as we should upon the first cost of what we call our own? The fifteen million dollars paid for the vast empire which these men were exploring--that was little--that was naught. But ah, the cost in blood and toil and weariness, in love and loyalty and faith, in daring and suffering and heartbreak of those who went ahead! It was a few brave leaders who furnished the stark, unflinching courage for us all.