about, and men obeyed. There's a bat living there now. He tumbled about
me in the dull light, filling the silence with the harsh whir of
pinions.

I thought about that night a long, long time ago when all the people
under the protection of the newly erected fort, gathered here for a
house-warming. How clearly I could hear that squawking, squeaking,
good-natured fiddle and the din of dancing feet! Only the sound got
mixed up with the dim, weird moonlight, until you didn't know whether
you were hearing or seeing or feeling it--the music of the fiddles and
the feet. Oh, the dim far music!

I thought about the other ruins of the world, the exploited,
tourist-haunted ruins; and I wondered why the others attract so much
attention while this one attracts practically none at all. How they do
dig after old Troy--poor old long-buried, much-abused Troy! And nobody
even cares to steal a brick from this ruined citadel that took so great
a part in the American epic. Indeed, you would not be obliged to steal a
brick; there are no guards.

Some one has said that the history of our country as taught in the
common schools is the history of a narrow strip of land along the
Atlantic coast. The statement is significant. The average school-teacher
knows very little about Fort Benton, I suspect.

And yet, one of the most tremendous of all human movements centered
about it--the movement that brought about the settlement of the
Northwest. One of these days they will plant a potato patch there!

But modern Benton?