missionary and his wife were occupied in tracing the course of the
Mississippi and its tributaries upon a pocket map, which was the chief
guide in that wilderness of streams and "tributaries." Who could deny
the vastness of the field, and the loud call for laborers, when such
an immense extent then bore only the name of "Unexplored Region!" And
yet, this same headwater territory was teeming with human beings, as
rude and uncultivated as the South Sea Islanders. What were the
feelings of the faithful couple as their eyes wandered to the left of
the map, where these huge letters confronted them, we can only
surmise. That they felt that ten thousand self-sacrificing men could
be employed in this portion of the country we may well imagine.

As the evening meal was not yet ready, the missionary folded the map
and fell to musing--musing of the future he had marked out for
himself; enjoying the sweet approval of his conscience, higher and
purer than any enjoyment of earth. All at once came back the
occurrence of the afternoon, which had been absent from his thoughts
for the hour past. But, now that it was recalled, it engaged his mind
with redoubled force.

Could he be assured that it was a red-man who had fired the shot, the
most unpleasant apprehension would be dissipated; but a suspicion
_would_ haunt him, in spite of himself, that it was not a red-man, but
a white, who had thus signified his hostility. The rolling of the
stones must have been simply to call his attention, and the rifle-shot
was intended for nothing more than to signify that he was an enemy.

And who could this enemy be? If a hunter or an adventurer, would he
not naturally have looked upon any of his own race, whom he
encountered in the wilderness, as his friends, and have hastened to