northward; but I could not withdraw my eyes from the noble expanse of
water heaving and tumbling in the dazzling sunlight. Indeed, there was
little else about our course to attract attention; the shore in front
lay clear and unbroken, bearing a sameness of outline that wearied the
vision; each breaking wave was but the type of others that had gone
before, and each jutting point of land was the picture of the next to
follow. To our left, there extended, parallel to our course of march,
a narrow ridge of white and firmly beaten sand, as regular in
appearance as the ramparts of a fort. Here and there a break occurred
where in some spring flood a sudden, rush of water had burst through.
Glancing curiously down these narrow aisles, as we rode steadily
onward, I caught fleeting glimpses of level prairie land, green with
waving grasses, apparently stretching to the western horizon bare of
tree or shrub. At first, I took this to be water also; until I
realized that I looked out upon the great plains of the Illinois.

The Captain was always chary of speech; now he rode onward with so
stern a face, that presently I spoke in inquiry.

"You are silent, Captain Wells," I said. "One would expect some
rejoicing, as we draw so close to the end of our long journey."

He glanced aside at me.

"Wayland," he said slowly, "I have been upon the frontier all my life,
and have, as you know, lived in Indian camps and shared in many a
savage campaign. I am too old a man, too tried a soldier, ever to
hesitate to acknowledge fear; but I tell you now, I believe we are
riding northward to our deaths."