“I should regret very much to learn that Fields had turned traitor, for I have in the past been ready to trust him to any extent,” remarked Captain Lewis.
“The third and last man is Andrew Waller,” continued Dick. “Now, we have never had a word with Andrew except in the best of ways. We have always looked on him as a loyal friend, and faithful to the trust you put in him. It has only been of late that both of us noticed that Andrew seems to try to avoid us, and when we do meet face to face he lets his eyes drop.”
“That is indeed a suspicious fact,” commented the other, quickly. “If money has tempted him to play the part of a traitor it is easy to understand how he cannot look you squarely in the eye. Conscience flays him every time he sees you near by. I shall certainly bear in mind what you have told me, and in due time results may spring from keeping a close watch on the movements of these three men.”
With that Captain Lewis left the boys, but they felt sure he would not allow the matter to drop. The man whom President Jefferson had personally selected to manage this big enterprise, and who had been his own private secretary, was accustomed to getting results whenever he attempted anything.
It was on the following morning that camp was broken, and the expedition once more started forward—down the Yellowstone to the Missouri, and up that muddy stream again. That was an event of vast importance in the lives of those daring souls who were thus venturing to plunge deeper into the mysteries of the country that up to then had never known the imprint of a white man’s foot.
Although filled with exultation, as were the rest of the travelers, Dick and his cousin looked back to see the last of the weird Mandan village which had long been a source of delight to their eyes. It was with considerable regret that they took their farewell view of the painted lodges, as well as the Indian cemetery on the side of the hill, where all those platforms, bearing their mummy-like burdens wrapped in buffalo hides, told of superstitions that were a part of the Mandan nature.
During that day they made considerable progress, and the first camp of the new trail was pitched on a ridge close to the river. Here the horses were put out to graze, and the boats drawn up on the shore, though a guard was constantly kept to insure against treachery.
Despite the apparent friendship shown by many of the Indian tribes they encountered on their long journey of thousands of miles, the two captains never fully put their trust in the red men. They believed them as a rule to be treacherous, and unable to resist pilfering if the opportunity offered. Especially was this true when the coveted object was a horse or a “stick that spat fire,” as the wonderful “shooting-irons” of the explorers were generally called.
Several days passed with nothing to break the monotony of the journey. Of course they often met with minor difficulties, but these were speedily overcome by a display of that generalship which had so far made the trip a success.
All this while the boys had not forgotten about the spy in the camp. Without appearing to do so, they kept a watch upon the three men upon whom suspicion had fallen. Had any one of them offered to leave camp after nightfall, he would have been trailed by Dick and Roger, bent on learning what could be the object of his wandering, and whether he had an appointment with François Lascelles, the Indian trader.