Deerfoot now descried something which the others had not seen. In a direct line to the westward and almost on the rim of the horizon was a tiny white object, like a peculiarly shaped cloud that would soon dissolve into thin air. It was a ship, and the snowy spread was its sails that caught the favoring breeze. The vessel was many miles distant and heading for the mouth of the Columbia. It was the only vessel visible in that vast sweep of ocean. The Indian watched it as it gradually grew more distinct. He wondered as to the people on board, and speculated as to what part of the world they had come from. He finally lowered the instrument and peered in the direction without the artificial help. Yes; he could now see the vessel with the eye alone. Pointing toward the right point he handed the glass to George Shelton and said: “Let my brother look.” The lad did so and the next moment exclaimed: “It is a ship! Victor, you must see it!” “I do,” replied the other, who nevertheless took the spyglass, which was next passed to Mul-tal-la. Then it went around in turn again, and the feast of vision was enjoyed to the full. For an hour the party held their place on the elevation, studying the sea and the grand and varied panorama spread before them. They could have stayed all day and been content, for there was much that was impressive in the thought that they had reached the end of their long journey over mountain, through tangled wilderness and across prairie and river. Victor Shelton suggested that they should keep on down the Columbia to the mouth and take a bath in the chilling waters of the Pacific, but Deerfoot shook his head. It had been the understanding from the first that they were to press westward until they saw the ocean, but to go no farther. They had touched tidewater some time before, and could feel that at times they were really paddling through the waters of the Pacific. It would take several days to reach the mouth of the river and time had become valuable. The season was so far advanced that winter would be upon them by the time or before they arrived in the Blackfoot country, for a good deal of the return journey must, from its nature, prove much more laborious than the one just completed had been. Deerfoot unexpectedly revealed one cause of anxiety. He was disquieted over Whirlwind, whom he had left with Amokeat, the Nez Perce chieftain. He could not free himself of the belief that trouble was to come from what he declared was a wrong act on his part. Had the stallion been only an ordinary “every day” animal, the owner would have felt no concern, but the steed was sure to be coveted by more than one warrior, and Amokeat could not have understood the worth of the treasure he had undertaken to guard and keep for the return of the owner. “Deerfoot did not use Whirlwind right,” said the Shawanoe, shaking his head. “The heart of Whirlwind was grieved when he saw Deerfoot leave him.”