From Chap. 56, Louisiana Purchase, 1838

An elevation rises ahead, one of those widely-scattered oblong hills so common here. I spur old Judge and make him gallop until we reach the summit. Now I can see the procession, barely moving on the dry valley road. Weep no more, my brothers and sisters. A place has been prepared for you.

During the next few moments I sit on my horse and gaze down, hypnotized by the rolling, serpentine cloud of dust wrapped around the caravan.

They're coming, Isaac McCoy, they're coming.

I ride down to greet them.

Isaac McCoy's dying words: "Tell the brethren to never let the Indian mission decline."