“What’s that?” queried the lieutenant, overhearing. “Oh, I guess we can make room. By all means. He climbed the highest peak, and I think he ought to be one to explore the enchanted islands. Come along, lad. You can pump the bellows and keep her blown up.”
And Oliver needed no second invitation.
The sun was just appearing over the mountain ranges in the east when, on this the eighth of September, the rubber canoe left her moorings and started down the river, for the lake. The men paddled; Oliver was set at work pumping air into the inflated cylinders, along gunwales and bows, for they leaked.
It was a delightful voyage. Frequently, at warning hiss from the paddlers before, they all floated silently, in order to get a shot at a duck or goose; to shoot it in the head, of course, if possible. These pauses, and the halts to pick up the game, consumed time, so that when the river channel opened out upon the lake-shore evening was near.
At the lake-shore the river made a kind of swamp, traversed in several places by a shallow, slow current. The boat stuck in the mud, and its crew must get out and shove her and haul her along, in mud to their knees. Finally, at a little point of dry land, amidst willows and reeds, where there was plenty of drift-wood, camp was made. The supper menu was roasted ducks and plover and geese—and the breakfast menu was the same.
All night the hoarse voices of wild-fowl, in marsh and upon lake, kept the air vibrant with multitudinous sound. However, upon their low beds of willow-branches and rushes the little camp by the unknown inland sea slept safely, until, at the first touch of pink in the eastern sky, the cheery tone of Lieutenant Frémont aroused with “Leve, leve!”—the trappers’ signal to arise.
This was the day for the voyage upon the salty lake. Oliver felt a strange wonderment and exhilaration: he felt like crying “Hooray!” The lieutenant was all energy, and even Kit Carson was more talkative than customary, while Mr. Preuss scarcely chewed his food before swallowing it—so excited was he. But Basil and Baptiste were unusually quiet, even to seeming downcast.
“What’s the matter with you two boys—you and Baptiste?” demanded the lieutenant, of Basil. “Are you afraid, so soon?”
“No, monsieur lieutenant,” responded Basil. “Only, we have had a bad dream, Baptiste and I. It means evil. Now, if we could but postpone the voyage until to-morrow—— To-day is unlucky.”
“Nonsense!” reproved the lieutenant. “Did you dream, Kit?”