"It's beautiful, isn't it?" said Dave, as they rode forward. "Oh, if only this fighting would come to an end, and we could go back to farming again, and raising cattle, and chickens, and the like! Sam, I am tired of fighting."
"So am I, lad. But so long as the red men keep it up, we'll have to do our share, I reckon. I'm not in favor of backing out, are you?"
"Oh, no, I believe in staying where we are."
At the end of a week they reached a small settlement known as Gantor's Mill, and here the trader with the horses left them, to go to a fort a few miles eastward.
"It's a good, long tramp we have before us, Dave," said the old frontiersman, as they started off on foot.
"How long do you think it will take?"
"That depends. If we find good trails, and can use the rivers and the lake, perhaps two weeks."
They carried with them a good stock of provisions and had been told where they could find a canoe as soon as the first of the rivers was gained. By good luck, they ran into no Indians, and on the following day were on the stream, and paddling along in fine style, under the overhanging trees. The leaves were growing thicker every day, and in some spots closed over the water so thoroughly that not a streak of sunshine reached them.
"What ideal places for hunting and fishing," said Dave, as he looked about him. "Sam, one could spend a month here and never notice how the time was passing."
Once they came close to several deer that were drinking. They had brought a bow and arrows along, and standing up in the bow of the canoe Dave took careful aim and fired on the smallest of the game. The deer was struck in the breast and fell over into the river, and paddling up they secured their prize.