“I want to wait and see the boat start,” answered Oliver. “Go on; I can trail you.”
“You’d better do it in a hurry, then,” grumbled William New, as he mounted. “We’re heading for beaver an’ buff’ler, an’ we travel fast.”
Without another word off they rode, two by two, at trapper rack or single-foot; and following up the Weber Fork they disappeared among the hills.
Oliver sauntered about, and at the first opportunity took a hand in rolling logs.
“Aren’t you going, boy?” demanded Lieutenant Frémont, suddenly noting him.
“No, sir.”
“Why not? Wouldn’t they take you?”
“Yes, sir; but I’d rather stay with you and Kit.”
“Oh, I see.” And the lieutenant, out of careworn bearded face, eyed him calculatingly.