"Nothing more than what you heard him say on New Year's day—that he would go as soon as the weather got warm enough, and it was considered safe."
"I wish I could go out with you. I really believe I could make some money, bringing in pelts,—more money than I can make by staying here."
"Perhaps you could, Henry, and, oh, I wish you could go!" went on Dave impulsively. "Wouldn't we have the best times, though!"
"The trouble is father wants me on the farm. There is so much to do, you see. While the war was on everything went to pieces."
"But Rodney can help now. He told me only yesterday that he felt strong enough to do almost anything."
"Yes, I've thought of that. If he can take hold, perhaps I can get father to consent. Did you say Sam Barringford was going?"
"To be sure. And so is White Buffalo. I suppose father will take not less than a dozen hunters and trappers with him and six or eight Indians, too. He says he doesn't want to depend altogether on strangers when he gets out there, and he hardly knows what has become of the most of those who were with him before."
"More than half of the crowd are dead, shot down either in the trouble with the redskins or in the war."
"I've been wondering if there is anything left of the trading-post. Father has half a notion that the Indians burnt it to the ground, and burnt the forest around it, too. If they have done that, he won't want to build again on the burn-over, but at some new spot where the forest hasn't been touched and timber is easy to get."
"Do you suppose they burnt the post Jean Bevoir had?"