“A wonderful country, Madam!” said he; and so he fell again into his moody staring out beyond the door.
After a time the hostess of the backwoods cabin sought to make up a bed for him, but he motioned to her to desist.
“It is not necessary,” said he. “I have slept so much in the open that ’tis rarely I use a bed at all. I see now that my servant has come up, and is in the yard yonder. Tell him to bring my robes and blankets and spread them here on the floor, as I always have them. That will answer quite well enough, thank you.”
Peria, it seemed, had by this time found his way to the cabin along the trail. He was alone.
“Come, man!” said Lewis. “Make down my bed for me—I am ill. And tell me, where is my powder? Where are the bullets for my pistols? I find them empty. Haven’t I told you to be more careful about these things? And where is my rifle-powder? The canister is here, but ’tis empty. Come, come, I must have better service than this!”
But even as he chided the remissness of his servant, he seemed to forget the matter in his mind. Presently he was again pacing apart, stopping now and then to stare out over the forest.
“I must have a place to write,” said he at length. “I shall be awake for a time tonight, occupied with business matters of importance. Where is Major Neely? Where are the other men? Why have they not come up?”
Peria could not or did not answer these questions, but sullenly went about the business of making his master as comfortable as he might, and then departed to his own quarters, down the hill, in another building. The old backwoods woman herself withdrew to the other apartment, beyond the open space of the double cabin.
The soft, velvet darkness of night in the forest now came on apace—a night of silence. There was not even the call of a tree toad. The voice of the whippoorwill was stilled at that season of the year. If there were human beings awake, alert, at that time, they made no sound. Meriwether Lewis was alone—alone in the wilderness again. Its silences, its mysteries, drew about him.
But now he stood, not enjoying in his usual fashion the familiar feeling of the night in the forest, the calm, the repose it customarily brought to him. He stood looking intently, as if he expected some one—nay, indeed, as if he saw some one—as if he saw a face! What face was it?