“We are along!” said Uncle Dick, soberly. “If you can see those stirring scenes, we are along. So, Rob, as you say, we’ll pitch our camp and dream, for at least a day, of our own wonderful America when it was young.”
John and Jesse were busy clearing a place for the tent. “I want the fire right close up to the tent,” said John, “and we don’t want to burn off either a tent pole or an overhead guy rope.”
“Oh,” rejoined Jesse, the youngest of them all, “I’ll show you how to do that!”
He dug into his war bag and brought out a roll of stout wire. “Run this from the top of the front pole on out, ten or twelve feet, and stretch it over a couple of shear poles. See? That’ll stiffen the tent, and yet you can build a fire right under the wire, and it won’t hurt it any.”
“A good idea, Jesse,” approved their leader as he saw this. “A mighty good idea for cold weather—about as good as your open fireplace of sheet steel with a stovepipe—open wider in front than behind, and reflecting the heat into the tent. I’ve tried that last invention of yours, Jess, and it works fine in coolish weather. We’ll try it again, maybe.”
“I’m making me a new kind of airplane now,” said Jesse, modestly. “It’s different in some ways. I like to sort of figure things out, that way.”
“That’s good. And to-night, son, I want you to see whether you can’t figure out a nice fat catfish on your set line. We need meat in camp; and that’s about what it’ll have to be, I suppose.”
Thus, talking together of this thing and that, they made their own comfortable camp, spreading down their own buffalo robes on the ground for their beds, on the old council ground of the Sioux. They had a hearty supper and soon were ready to turn in, for the mosquitoes were bad enough, as they found. Rob sat late at night alone by the little fire.
“Come on to bed, Rob,” called Jesse. “What do you see out there, anyway?”
“Indians,” replied Rob. “Sioux in robes and feathers. Two men in uniform coats, one tall and dark, the other tall and with red hair. Don’t you see them, too?”