The next morning they proceeded up stream five miles, setting traps until they reached another temporary camp, which needed much repairing, and did not reach the home camp till dark. After supper they sat some time chatting and arranging their plans for the winter.
“I can’t help thinking of the Indian; there in the corner are his arrows and bow. If I could use them as well as he, we should get more deer meat this winter,” said William.
“A rifle is better than a bow.”
“True, but we cannot fire a rifle till the stream is frozen. The beaver is a very timid creature, and while they are running about the bank the less noise we make the better, but the bow is a silent weapon, and in an Indian’s hand effective.”
Such was the divergency of the creeks that when each was at the upper end of his line of traps they were ten miles apart, but every other night they met at the home camp where they did most of their cooking; the other camps were for shelter and to skin their game in and stretch and keep the skins.
Every Sunday they met at the home camp, and indulged in a pot of pork and beans, and sassafras tea and Johnny-cake, baked on a flat stone, with a slice of pork. When they had made their plans and partaken of the supper William threw himself upon the brush, wrapped the blanket around him, and was asleep in a moment.
But in respect to James the situation was too novel to permit of sleep. He went out and seated himself upon the birch, that was turned upon the bank. It was a night of stars but moonless. He was nearly three hundred miles from home, sixty from any village, and half that from any habitation; no baying of dogs, rumbling of wheels, nor any of the sounds of civilized life fell upon his ear as he reflected and listened to the moaning of the stream as it swept past, and the sounds new and inexplicable to him that came up on the night wind from the forest. A strange feeling of loneliness came over him. He felt his own nothingness as never before; the mighty forest seemed closing around and about to crush him; and commending himself to God he also wrapped himself in his blanket, and lay watching the flickering firelight till sleep and fatigue overpowered him.
Here they remained and trapped till the middle of April, and then made up their furs. Mr. Whitman took them to Philadelphia. They divided five hundred dollars between them, and James reached home the sixth of May.
The Whitmans were seated at the dinner-table. During the forenoon they had been preparing the ground to plant corn, they had been working four horses, putting James’ colt in with Dick, in the absence of his mate.
“Father,” said Peter, “hadn’t we better plough that piece of burnt land, and not wait for James?”