A horseman rode furiously over the new road from Fort Bellefontaine to St. Louis village. He carried news. The expedition of Lewis and Clark had returned!

Yes, these men so long thought lost, dead, were coming even now with their own story, with their proofs. The boats had passed Charette, had passed Bellefontaine, and presently would be pulling up the river to the water front of St. Louis itself.

“Run, boys!” cried Pierre Chouteau to his servants. “Call out the people! Tell them to ring the bells—tell them to fire the guns at the fort yonder. Captains Lewis and Clark have come back again—those who were dead!”

The little settlement was afire 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 started out on this long journey. There he had kissed that face which he had left in tears—he saw it now! All the glory of his safe return, all the wonderful results which it must mean, he would have given now, could he have had back that picture for a different making.

“My matches—my thermometers—my instruments—how did they perform?”

The speaker was Dr. Saugrain, eager to meet again his friends.

“Perfect, doctor, perfect! We have some of the matches yet. As to the thermometers, we broke the last one before we reached the sea.”

“You found the sea? Mon Dieu!”

“We found the Pacific. We found the Columbia, the Yellowstone—many new rivers. We have found a new continent—made a new geography. We passed the head of the Missouri. We found three great mountain ranges.”

“The beaver—did you find the beaver yonder?” demanded the voice of a swarthy man who had attended them.

It was Manuel Liza, fur-trader, his eyes glowing in his interest in that reply.

“Beaver?” William Clark waved a hand. “How many I could not tell you! Thousands and millions—more beaver than ever were known in the world before. Millions of buffalo—elk in droves—bears such as you never saw—antelope, great horned sheep, otters, muskrat, mink—the greatest fur country in all the world. We could not tell you half!”

“Your men, will they be free to make return up the river with trading parties?”

William Clark smiled at the keenness of the old French trader.

“You could not possibly have better men,” said he.

The men themselves shook their heads in despair. Yes, they said, they had found a thousand miles of country ready to be plowed. They had found any quantity of hardwood forests and pine groves. They had seen rivers packed with fish until they were half solid—more fish than ever were in all the world before. They had found great rivers which led far back to the heart of the continent. They had seen trees larger than any man ever had seen—so large that they hardly could be felled by an ax.

They had found a country where in the winter men perished, and another where the winters were not cold, and where the bushes grew high as trees. They had found all manner of new animals never known before—in short, a new world. How could they tell of it?

“Captain,” inquired Chouteau at length, “your luggage, your boxes—where are they?”

Meriwether Lewis pointed to a skin parfleche and a knotted bandanna handkerchief which George Shannon carried for him.

“That is all I have left,” said he. “But the mail for the East—the mail, M. Chouteau—we must get word to the President!”

“The President has long ago been advised of your death,” said Chouteau, laughing. “All the world has said good-by to you. No doubt you can read your own obituaries.”

“We bring them better news than that. What news for us?” asked the two captains of their host.

“News!” The voluble Frenchman threw up his hands. “Nothing but news! The entire world is changed since you left. I could not tell you in a month. The Burr duel——”

“Yes, we did not know of it for two years,” said William Clark. “We have just heard about it, up river.”

“The killing of Mr. Hamilton ended the career of Colonel Burr,” said Chouteau. “But for that we might have different times here in Mississippi. He had many friends. But you have heard the last news regarding him?”

It was the dark eye of Meriwether Lewis which now compelled his attention.

“No? Well, he came out here through this country once more. He was arrested last summer, on the Natchez Trace, and carried off to Washington. The charge is treason against his government. The country is full of it—his trial is to be at Richmond. Even now it may be going on.”

He did not notice the sudden change in Meriwether Lewis’s face.

“And all the world is swimming in blood across the sea,” went on their garrulous informant. “Napoleon and Great Britain are at war again. Were it not so, one or the other of them would be at the gates of New Orleans, that is sure. This country is still discontented. There was much in the plan of Colonel Burr to separate this valley into a country of its own, independent—to force a secession from the republic, even though by war on the flag. Indeed, he was prepared for that; but now his conspiracy is done. Perhaps, however, you do not hold with the theory of Colonel Burr?”

“Hold with the theory of Colonel Burr, sir?” exclaimed the deep voice of Meriwether Lewis. “Hold with it? This is the first time I have known what it was. It was treason! If he had any join him, that was in treason! He sought to disrupt this country? Agree with him? What is this you tell me? I had never dreamed such a thing as possible of him!”

“He had many friends,” went on Chouteau; “very many friends. They are scattered even now all up and down this country—men who will not give up their cause. All those men needed was a leader.”

“But, M. Chouteau,” rejoined Lewis, “I do not understand—I cannot! What Colonel Burr attempted was an actual treason to this republic. I find it difficult to believe that!”

Chouteau shrugged his shoulders.

“There may be two names for it,” he said.

“And every one asked to join the cause was asked to join in treason to his country. Is it not so?” Lewis went on.

“There may be two names for it,” smiled the other, still shrugging.

“He was my friend,” said Meriwether Lewis. “I trusted him!”

“Always, I repeat, there are two names for treason. But what puzzles me is this,” Chouteau continued. “What halted the cause of Colonel Burr here in the West? He seemed to be upon the point of success. His organization was complete—his men were in New Orleans—he had great lands purchased as a rendezvous below. He had understandings with foreign powers, that is sure. Well, then, here is Colonel Burr at St. Louis, all his plans arranged. He is ready to march, to commence his campaign, to form this valley into a great kingdom, with Mexico as part of it. He was a man able to make plans, believe me. But of all this there comes—nothing! Why? At the last point something failed—no one knew what. He waited for something—no one knew what. Something lacked—no one can tell what. And all the time—this is most curious to me—I learned it through others—Colonel Burr was eager to hear something of the expedition of Lewis and Clark into the West. Why? No one knows! Does no one know?”

The captain did not speak, and Chouteau presently went on.

“Why did Colonel Burr hesitate, why did he give up his plans here—why, indeed, did he fail? You ask me why these things were? I say, it was because of you—messieurs, you two young men, with your Lewis and Clark Expedition! It was you who broke the Burr Conspiracy—for so they call it in these days. Messieurs, that is your news!”