I got the map out of the great square cupboard in the corner, and spread the paper flat upon the table, placing knives at each corner to hold it open.  I rolled his chair up before it, and the three of us bent our heads over the map together, our faces glowing in the candle flame.  It was a copy made by a quill from a great government map my mother had seen somewhere in her journeying westward; and, though only a rude design, it was not badly done, and was sufficiently accurate for our purpose.  Much of it was still blank; yet the main open trails had been traced with care, the principal fords over the larger streams were marked, and the various government posts and trading settlements distinctly located and named.  Searching for the head of the Great Lake, we were not long in discovering the position of the fort called Dearborn, which seemingly was posted upon the western shore, nearly opposite another garrison point at the mouth of the St. Joseph river.  We were able to trace with clearness the military road that had been constructed northward from Fort Wayne, our nearest government post; but the map failed to exhibit evidence of any beaten track, or used trail, leading westward and around the head of the lake.  There were numerous irregular lines which denoted unnamed streams, but by far the larger portion of the territory extending to the west beyond Fort Wayne had been simply designated as “forest land” and “unexplored.”

“Friend Burns tells me there is a trail used by both troops and savages, which he has traversed several times,” my father explained, as he lifted his eyes from the map; “but it is not over plain, nor easily followed, as communication with the Fort is mostly maintained by means of the waterways to the northward.  The overland journey, however, will prove speedier, besides being less liable to disaster for one unaccustomed to boats.  How soon can John be ready, mother?”

Her voice trembled, and I felt the pressure of her hand upon my sleeve.

“It will take all of the morrow, David, to prepare his clothing properly,” she replied, with the patient resignation of the frontier.  “There is much that will need seeing after.”

“Then John will start the next dawn.  You had best ride the brown colt, my son; he is of good breed, and speedy.  Seth shall accompany you until you find suitable companionship at Hawkins’s.  He will bring back word of how you started, and that knowledge will greatly comfort your mother.”

He paused, and held out his thin hands.

“You go upon this strange journey willingly, my son?”

“Yes, father.”

“You will be both kind and thoughtful with Roger Matherson’s little girl?”

“She shall be to me as my own sister.”

I felt the confiding clasp of his fingers, and realized how much to him would be a successful termination of my journey.

“Kiss your mother, John,” he said, a trustful look coming into his kindly eyes.  “We must all be astir early on the morrow.”