CHAPTER XI—AFTER WILD GEESE
Late in October, when one of the last boats was stopping at Reed’s Landing, Barker and Tatanka were watching the boat from a small window in the store.
“Look, brother,” the Indian whispered; “there is the bad white man.”
On deck stood Hicks with two companions talking and gesticulating. Hicks evidently wanted to get off the boat, but the other two men persuaded him to stay on board.
The steamer stopped only a few minutes to take on cargo and passengers before it proceeded on its way to St. Louis.
“He has hunted for us in Minnesota a long time,” Barker laughed. “Now, I think we are rid of him for a while. I suppose he has made up his mind that we have gone on to Vicksburg and he is going to follow us. Well, let him go. By this time the parents of the boys must have the letters which the boys and I sent them through a friend in a Missouri regiment, and they will not be worried by any lies Hicks may tell them. But I would just like to find out why he was so anxious to keep these boys in Minnesota and expose them to the scalping-knives of the Indians.”
After the men had completed their purchases, they returned to their camp, but they said nothing to the boys about Hicks and his companions.
The southward flight of ducks and geese and other water fowl was now at its height, and the campers had added a liberal supply of wild ducks to their store of smoked fish.
The first ducks to go south were the blue-winged teals, small birds which whizzed over the camp in immense flocks at the rate of sixty or more miles an hour. A little later, the northern ducks, blue-bills, and mallards had come down in immense flocks. But Tatanka and Barker were waiting for still larger game.
“We ought to get some geese,” the Indian suggested, and one evening as they were watching the flight of a long line of great honking geese, they saw two or three hundred of them settle on a long sandbar a mile below their camp. “Yon and Bill must rise early,” said the Indian. “Perhaps you can get some of them.”