ere I may be a gentleman!"

He saw her movement as she turned, heard her sigh.

"Sometimes," she said, "I have thought it worth a woman's life thrown
away that a strong man may succeed. Failure and sacrifice a woman may
offer--not much more. But it is as my father told me!"

"He told you what?"

"That only chivalry would ever make you forget your duty--that you
never could be approached through your weakness, but only through your
strength, through your honor. I cannot approach you through your
strength, and I would not approach you through your weakness, even if
I could. No! Wait. Perhaps some day it will all be made clear for
both of us, so that we may understand. Yes, this is torture for us
both!"

He heard the soft rustle of her gown, her light footfall as she
passed; and once more he was alone.

CHAPTER XI

THE TAMING OF PATRICK GASS

"Shannon, go get the men!"

It was midnight. For more than an hour Meriwether Lewis had sat, his
head drooped, in silence.

"We are going to start?" Shannon's face lightened eagerly. "We'll be
off at sunup?"

"Before that. Get the men--we'll start now! I'll meet you at the
wharf."

Eager enough, Shannon hastened away on his midnight errand. Within an
hour every man of the little party was at the water front, ready for
departure. They found their leader walking up and down, his head bent,
his hands behind him.

It was short work enough, the completion of such plans as remained
unfinished. The great keel-boat lay completed and equipped at the
wharf. The men lost little time in stowing such casks and bales as
remained unshipped. Shannon stepped to his chief.

"All's aboard, sir," said he. "Shall we cast off?"

Without a word Lewis nodded and made his way to his place in the boat.
In the darkness, without a shout or a cheer to mark its passing, the
expedition was launched on its long journey.

Slowly the boat passed along the waterfront of Pittsburgh town. Here
rose gauntly, in the glare of torch or camp fire, the mast of some
half-built schooner. Houseboats were drawn up or anchored alongshore,
long pirogues lay moored or beached, or now and again a giant
broadhorn, already partially loaded with household goods, common
carrier for that human flood passing down the great waterway, stood
out blacker than the shadows in which it lay.

Here and there camp fires flickered, each the center of a ribald group
of the hardy rivermen. Through the night came sounds of