“Hardly, this country has changed a lot in a hundred years and I don’t know just where we are. I’m only guessing, doing dead reckoning on our motor speed. But we ought to see the place I’ve got in mind, before plumb dark.”
“See what, Uncle Dick? What is it?”
“Never mind. I’ll tell you if we make it.”
However, Uncle Dick was shrewd in his map work and his guessing. Toward dark the boys began to get anxious as the shadows fell along the deep, powerful river, but they had no sign to land until it was well after sunset. Then Uncle Dick began to whistle cheerfully.
“All right, Rob,” he called. “Hard a-lee! Get across. That creek on the right is the Femme Osage. There were forty families settled there, six miles up the river, and one of those farmers was—who do you think?”
“I know!” exclaimed John. “It was Daniel Boone! I’ve read about his moving in here from Kentucky.”
“Right you are, son! He had a Spanish land grant in here and lived here till 1804. He died in 1820, at the town called Femme Osage, as you know.
“Well now, here we are! In under the rocks, Rob—so! Now quick, Jesse, make fast at the bow!”
“Well, what do you know!” exclaimed Jesse. “Regular cave, and everything!”
“Yes,” smiled his uncle, “a regular cave and all. Lucky to hit it so well and to find it still doing business—at least part way—after a hundred years!”