Sergeant Ordway, with Pryor and Gass, met in one of the many little ominous groups that now began to form among the men in camp. Captain Clark was sleeping, exhausted.
“It stands to reason,” said Ordway, usually so silent, “that the way across the range is up one valley to the divide and down the next creek on the opposite side. That is the way we crossed the Alleghanies.”
Pryor nodded his head.
“Sure,” said he, “and all the game-trails break off to the south and southwest. Follow the elk!”
“Is it so?” exclaimed Patrick Gass. “You think it aisy to find a way across yonder range? And how d’ye know jist how the Alleghanies was crossed first? Did they make it the first toime they thried? Things is aisy enough after they’ve been done wance—but it’s the first toime that counts!”
“There is no other way, Pat,” argued Ordway. “’Tis the rivers that make passes in any mountain range.”
“Which is the roight river, then?” rejoined Gass. “We’re lookin’ for wan that mebbe is nowhere near here. S’pose we go to the top yonder and take a creek down, and s’pose that creek don’t run the roight way at all, but comes out a thousand miles to the southwest—where are you then, I’d like to know? The throuble with us is we’re the first wans to cross here, and not comin’ along after some one else has done the thrick for us.”
Pryor was willing to argue further.
“All the Injuns have said the big river was over there somewhere.”
“‘Somewhere’!” exclaimed Patrick Gass. “‘Somewhere’ is a mighty long ways when we’re lost and hungry!”