Soon they all felt tired and began to unroll the beds. A screech owl made a tremulous, eerie note, but even Jesse only laughed at that.
They had breakfast before the mist was off the water, and before the cooking was begun Jesse called out from below:
“Hey, there! Wait for me! I’ve got the breakfast right here! Call in the lyed corn and pork. Here’s a catfish, four pounds, anyhow!”
“Clean him, Jess,” called Rob, “and cut him up small enough to fry.”
Jesse did so, and soon the slices were sizzling in the pan.
“Well, anyhow,” commented their leader, “though not as good as venison, it’s wild game, eh? And our way has always been to live off the country all we could without breaking laws.”
“What changes, from then till now!” said Rob. “It was spring and summer when they went up this river, but they killed deer, turkeys, elk, buffalo, antelope, and wild fowl—hundreds—all the time. Now, all that’s unlawful.”
“And impossible. Yes, they lived as the Indians lived, and they killed game the year round. Now, about all we can do for a while will be to eat the trusty catfish.
“One thing has not changed,” their leader added, a little later, “and that is the current along the rock faces. Just above is what Clark called ‘The Deavels race ground’—a half mile that will try your motors, Rob. The big keel boat got in all sorts of trouble that day, whirling around, getting on bars, breaking her line and all that. The expedition came near getting into grief—men had to go overboard and steady her, and they were swimming, poling, rowing, and tracking all that day.”