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."