“That’s so!” said Jesse. “Where were their horses all the time?”
“None above the Mandans,” said Rob; “maybe not that far. They started with two, and picked up one, and one died—that’s the record up to the Sioux. But beyond the Mandans they hoofed it, or poled and paddled and pulled. They couldn’t sail the canoes—they gave that up. And now both their perogues were left behind. So when they left the old eagle on his broken tree, and the savage white bears all along here, and the rattlesnakes and everything else that tried to stop them here, they drew their belts in and threw her in the high—that’s right, Jess.”
“And speaking of the portage,” he continued, “Uncle Dick told me to get a wagon and follow down as close as we could to our camp and get our stuff all up to a place above the White Bear Islands, and go into camp there until he came in with Billy Williams and the pack horses, from his ranch on the Gallatin, near the Forks. So that’s a day’s work, even with a flivver—which I think we’ll use part way. Time we set out and proceeded on, fellows.”
They turned away from the Great Falls of the ancient river, in part with a feeling of sadness. Jesse waved his hand toward the Black Eagle Falls.
“The only thing is——” said he.
The others knew Jesse was wishing for the wild days back again.