But time passes, the watch is set for the night, the council of good men has been broken up and each has returned to his own quarters. The flute has whispered its last lament to the deepening night. The violin is silent and the dancers have dispersed. Enamored youths have whispered a tender "good night" in the ear of blushing maidens, or stolen a kiss from the lips of some future bride; for Cupid, here as elsewhere, has been busy bringing together congenial hearts, and among these simple people, he alone is consulted in forming the marriage tie. Even the Doctor and the pilot have finished their confidential interview and have separated for the night. All is hushed and repose from the fatigues of the day, save the vigilant guard, and the wakeful leader who still has cares upon his mind that forbid sleep.

He hears the ten o'clock relief taking post, and the "all well" report of the returned guard; the night deepens, yet he seeks not the needed repose. At length a sentinel hurries to him with the welcome report that a party is approaching, as yet too far away for its character to be determined, and he instantly hurries out in the direction seen.

This he does both from inclination and duty, for, in times past, the camp has been unnecessarily alarmed by timid or inexperienced sentinels, causing much confusion and fright amongst women and children, and it had been made a rule that all extraordinary incidents of the night should be reported directly to the pilot, who alone had authority to call out the military strength of the column, or so much of it as was, in his judgment, necessary to prevent a stampede or repel an enemy.

To-night he is at no loss to determine that the approaching party are our missing hunters, and that they have met with success, and he only waits until, by some further signal, he can know that no ill has happened to them. This is not long wanting; he does not even wait their arrival, but the last care of the day being removed and the last duties performed, he, too, seeks the rest that will enable him to go through the same routine to-morrow. But here I leave him, for my task is also done, and, unlike his, it is to be repeated no more.

After passing through such trials and dangers, nothing could have been more cheering to these tired immigrants than the band of Cayuse and Nez Perces Indians, with pack mules loaded with supplies, meeting the Doctor upon the mountains with a glad welcome. From them he learned that in his absence his mill had been burned, but the Rev. H. H. Spalding, anticipating the needs of the caravan, had furnished flour from his mill, and nothing was ever more joyously received.

Dr. Whitman also received letters urging him to hurry on to his mission. He selected one of his most trusty Cayuse Indian guides, Istikus, and placed the company under his lead. He was no longer a necessity for its comfort and safety. The most notable event in pioneer history is reaching its culmination. That long train of canvas-covered wagons moving across the plains, those two hundred campfires at night, with shouts and laughter and singing of children, were all new and strange to these solitudes. As simple facts in history, to an American they are profoundly interesting, but to the thoughtful student who views results, they assume proportions whose grandeur is not easily over-estimated.

But the little band has come safely across the Rockies; has forded and swam many intervening rivers; the dreary plains, with saleratus dust and buffalo gnats, had been left behind, and here they stand upon a slope of the farthest western range of mountains, with the fertile foot hills and beautiful green meadows reaching as far away as the eye can see. The wagons are well bunched. For weeks they have been eager to see the land of promise. It is a goodly sight to see, as they file down the mountain side, one hundred and twenty-five wagons, one thousand head of loose stock, cattle, horses and sheep, and about one thousand men, women and children, and Oregon is saved to the Union.

Who did it?

We leave every thoughtful, honest reader to answer the query.

CHAPTER VIII.