“Thank you, sir; but what course do you feel that we should now follow?”
“Well, let me think. I have it,—just the thing. I’ll take four troopers with me and press rapidly up the trail. Five of us can travel much more rapidly than the whole detachment. I’ll come up with the volunteers before dark and spend the night in their tents.”
“And we’ll camp here, and follow along in the morning?” queried Clark.
“That’s it. A body of men the size of the volunteer force must necessarily travel slow. You should have no trouble in overtaking us some time tomorrow,—probably no later than mid-afternoon.”
“Very well, sir,” said Clark uneasily, “but wouldn’t it be wise to take Bill Brown or one of the other scouts with you?”
“Nonsense, Lieutenant, nonsense! When old Black Hawk’s spies carried him word of this pursuing army, he no doubt turned tail and skedaddled north as fast as his ponies will trot. I imagine he won’t stop running till he gets to Lake Superior, or maybe Hudson Bay. And good riddance, say I!”
“It’s up to you, sir,” was Clark’s final comment, “but I would earnestly advise you to be wary.”
“Pshaw!” boasted Van Alstyne, “I feel as safe as strolling down the Bowery in good old New York City; but if you insist, I will take along young Ben Gordon.”
Ten minutes later, the Captain, Ben Gordon and the four troopers—one of whom was Jim Martin—rode out of Dixon’s Ferry, and with a final wave of farewell struck up the broad trail to the north; while those who were left behind proceeded to pitch camp for the night, on the open bank of the wilderness river.
Sunset was soon at hand; and after the big, molten orb had gone down in the west, mists and vapors began to roll in from the northeast, promising a chilly and dark night. The little band of Indian hunters built bright fires, however, over which they cooked bacon and made the customary tea. The food and drink heartened them wonderfully, and, although it was felt necessary to put out the blazes as soon as the cooking was over, the effect of the warmth lingered on.