For the first time, in many a day, the squatter turned his back
towards the setting sun. The route he held was in the direction of the
settled country, and the manner in which he moved sufficed to tell his
children, who had learned to read their father's determinations in his
mien, that their journey on the prairie was shortly to have an end.
Still nothing else transpired for hours, that might denote the
existence of any sudden, or violent, revolution in the purposes or
feelings of Ishmael. During all that time he marched alone, keeping a
few hundred rods in front of his teams, seldom giving any sign of
extraordinary excitement. Once or twice, indeed, his huge figure was
seen standing on the summit of some distant swell, with the head bent
towards the earth, as he leaned on his rifle; but then these moments
of intense thought were rare, and of short continuance. The train had
long thrown its shadows towards the east, before any material
alteration was made in the disposition of their march. Water-courses
were waded, plains were passed, and rolling ascents risen and
descended, without producing the smallest change.
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