Walt had now joined his two young friends and their Indian ally. He rode side by side with them and laughed and joked continually.
“Good-bye,” he called gaily to an acquaintance, who stood nearby. “Sorry you aren’t going with us.”
“You’re lucky dogs,” was the man’s only comment on Walt’s remark.
“That’s the way I feel about it myself,” exclaimed Walt to his companions. “We’re going out to have some fun and those poor fellows have to stay at home. We’ll probably finish the whole business up and not give them a chance to do anything.”
“It’s the thirteenth today, don’t forget that,” warned Robert.
Walt only laughed and soon dropped behind to chat with some friend of his in the company. The advance was most disorderly. No regular formation was attempted and the men were soon scattered and spread over a considerable space. The only apparent plan seemed to be to follow the course of the Rock River and this was done, each man practically acting upon his own responsibility. They proceeded leisurely, Major Stillman apparently being in no hurry. A stop was made for dinner in the middle of the day and that night camp was pitched in a grove of oak trees not far from the bank of the river.
Fires were soon burning brightly and the smell of food cooking reminded every one just how hungry he was. A day on horseback produced a hearty appetite and full justice was done to the meal. Many of these backwoodsmen were excellent cooks too. They were in the habit of often preparing their own meals and had really become expert in the art of plain cooking.
“This is what I like!” exclaimed Robert when the meal was over and they were seated about the camp fire. At this particular blaze were eight or ten men gathered and many similar groups were to be seen on all sides of them. The men were rough and hearty frontiersmen and it was a great treat to the two brothers to listen to some of the tales that were told of hunting and fishing adventures.
“So you like this, do you, Red?” said one of the men.
“You mean me?” demanded Robert quickly.