Frank told himself, very emphatically, that he never would be settled as a hunter. He was heartily tired of roughing it already and would have been glad to start for home long ago; but he knew by the way his cousin talked and acted that it would be of no use to propose such a thing; so, after a good deal of thinking, he had determined upon a course of action that was mean and cowardly in the extreme. He only waited for a favorable opportunity to carry his plans into execution.
After washing their hands and faces, and drying them upon the cleanest part of the long-used towels, the boys looked around until they found a couple of chairs that had just been vacated, and sat down to listen to the conversation of the miners, who had by this time drawn away from the bar, and were now seated around the stove, talking over their experience.
They talked principally about gold-hunting, but presently one of them launched out into a narrative that held his listeners spellbound.
It was about a fight he and his comrades had with a war party of Cheyennes who drove them away from their diggings.
This set the others going on the same subject, and from that hour until supper was announced the boys listened to stories of adventure and hair-breadth escapes from wild animals and Indians that were enough to frighten anyone.
For the first time since leaving home, Leon told himself that perhaps he had mistaken his calling.
If tall, broad-shouldered, powerful-looking men like these could be driven about like sheep by the wild inhabitants of the mountains and plains, what could a boy like himself do in combat with them?
As for Frank, the last particle of his courage oozed out at the ends of his fingers, and he was all the more determined to carry out the plans he had already formed.
He found that he had entertained very erroneous opinions regarding frontier life.