“From Fort Armstrong. That’s down on the Mississippi you know, right close to Black Hawk’s village and right near Rock Island, too.”
“We’ll have about two thousand men in a few days then, won’t we?” exclaimed Joseph. “I don’t believe Black Hawk has half that many, do you?”
“I don’t think so,” agreed Walt. “That’s why I want to get started now and not wait for the others. We’ve got enough men here now to lick all the Indians in North America as it is.”
“That’s the way my father used to talk,” remarked Robert quietly. “It is a mistake to think that way in my opinion.”
“Please don’t ever say such a thing before Deerfoot, anyway,” urged Joseph. “He is one of the finest men that ever lived and I wouldn’t offend him for anything in the world.”
“I’ll remember that,” Walt promised. “All Indians aren’t bad anyway,” he added so seriously that both boys laughed.
“Did you ever know any well?” asked Robert.
“Yes, indeed. I trapped all one winter with an Ojibway up in Canada. He was a fine fellow and amusing, too. At night we used to sit around our fire and smoke and once in a while I could get him to talk. He knew all the Indian stories and legends from start to finish and they were mighty interesting, too.”
“Tell us some of them,” urged Joseph eagerly.
“Well, now,” said Walt slowly. “I don’t know as I can remember them. Certainly I can’t tell ’em the way he did.”