So they side-stepped the swamp and resumed their own noisy route. They did not stop again that night; they rested at day-break, long enough to eat a few mouthfuls; all that day they rode, and all the night again; with the morning they had arrived upon the bank of the Ohio.
They had left a trail plain enough for a five-year-old child to follow. But here they were, and—
"Across the Ohio and we're safe, boys," quoth Simon. "Hooray! Didn't we come it over 'em proper?"
The wind was blowing a gale, up-stream, and the Ohio was whipped into white-caps. It looked like a stormy passage.
"You fellows tote our fixin's over on a raft; I'll swim with the hosses," bade the nimble Simon.
They worked; made a raft of logs and branches; loaded the guns and blankets and ammunition upon it; herded the horses into the stream, and while his two comrades threw stones and sticks at them from the shore Simon himself forged into the stream, to swim just below them.
He was a strong man, but the high waves choked him, the current carried him down, down in spite of his efforts; pretty soon he and the snorting horses were separated. They had had enough, and turned back to the shore. Montgomery and Clark could not head them; out they all scrambled.
Pshaw! Around turned Simon, and staggered out, too, for another try. The same thing occurred. He could not keep up with the horses, and they refused to cross without a guide. In fact, they wanted to go home.
He sank exhausted upon the bank.
"Plague take 'em! I've got to rest a spell."