From camp, here where the river split into two large forks, one out of the west, the other out of the south, the Big Blue Mountain looked to be quite near, up a small north fork. “Le Grand Mont,” Baroney called it. “The Grand Peak.” And the men called it that, too. “Sure, it can’t be more’n one day’s march now,” John Sparks declared, as from camp they eyed it again. “We can be there to-morrow at this time, with ease, in case those be the orders.” In the sunset the mountain loomed vast, its base blue, but its top pinkish white. After everything else was shrouded in dusk, its top still shone. “How high, d’ye think?” queried soldier Freegift Stout. “Thray miles higher’n we be; mebbe four,” guessed Pat Smith. “He’s a grand wan all right,” sighed Tom Dougherty. “Even a bur-rd wud nade an ixtra pair o’ wings to get atop him, I’m thinkin’.” “No mortal man, or nothing else on two legs could do it, I reckon,” said John Brown. “Unless that be the cap’n himself.” “American can,” Stub reminded, proudly. “You’re right, boy,” soldier Terry Miller approved. “Under orders an American would come pretty close to filling the job.” The lieutenant and the doctor had been gazing at the peak; it fascinated them, like it fascinated the men, and Stub. That night they talked together until late, planning for to-morrow. The lieutenant had decided to climb the mountain. He sent for Sergeant Meek. The sergeant stood before him and saluted. “I intend to take Doctor Robinson and two of the men, and this boy, to-morrow, and set out for the big mountain,” the lieutenant said. “The camp will be left in your charge.” “Yes, sir,” replied Sergeant Meek. “These reports of the journey to date I also leave, with my personal baggage. The mountain is only a short day’s march, but I have to consider that we may be cut off or meet with other accident. To-morrow morning I will lay out a stockade, here, for the protection of your party. You are to wait here one week, with due caution against surprises by the savages and the Spanish. Admit nobody except your own command into the stockade. If we do not return or you do not hear from us within the seven days, you are to take my papers and such baggage as may be necessary, and march down river by the safest direct course for the nearest American settlement or military post, as may be. At the American frontier you will leave your men under instructions to report at St. Louis, and you will press ahead at best speed and deliver my papers to General Wilkinson, the head of the Army, wherever he may be. In event of your disability, you will entrust the papers to Corporal Jackson――acquainting him in advance with what is expected of him. In the meantime, here or on the march, keep your men alert and together, and do not forget that our Country depends upon our performing our duty without regard to our own interests.”