He looked across toward the shipyards with a frown.
"I am now on my way to inquire, señor," he answered. "Against the better counsel of Colonel Burr, I was so ill advised as to bring a seaman from the seaboard to have charge of the water journey."
"A salt-water sailor on an Ohio flat!" I exclaimed.
"The señor forgets that I am a stranger to his forest wilderness."
"Your pardon, Señor Vallois!—Permit me to ride with you. It may be I can assist you."
"Na-da-a!" he protested. "I cannot permit it. You have ridden for fifteen days at more than post speed. You must first refresh yourself."
"The señor forgets that I am no less eager than himself to arrange for the river passage. Rest assured I am good for another day in the saddle, if need be, at your service, señor."
As I wheeled around, and we started for the riverside, he looked me up and down with a wondering glance.
"Por Dios!" he muttered. "I had thought none could ride as ride our vaqueros. You are a man of iron."
"I am the son of my father," I replied. "How other than hard could be the sons of the men who wrested this Western land from the savages,—who have driven the Cherokees, Creeks, and Choctaws south of Tennessee, and pressed back the Northwest Indians to their present fastnesses about the Great Lakes?"