Strange, indeed, were many of the stories that came to the ears of the travelers. They heard of burning deserts, where for ten days they would find nothing but wastes of sand, except for a few cacti, or prickly pears. Here they were likely to leave their bones to the vultures and the prowling coyotes—the latter a small species of the wolf tribe, which the men of the expedition had begun to notice collecting about their camp at nights. These animals kept up a miserable chant in chorus, but they possessed a very cowardly nature, quite unlike the gray timber wolf.
If Captain Lewis and his followers had not possessed stout hearts they would have been dismayed by all they heard of the country lying beyond. The mountains reached above the clouds, rearing themselves in a most forbidding way, and were exceedingly rocky and devoid of vegetation.
Besides, there were tribes of fierce Indians living in the deep canyons who would lie in wait to overwhelm the pilgrims in hopes of obtaining their horses and those wonderful sticks that spat out fire. The beasts inhabiting those elevations were also awe inspiring, especially the bears, which, as the travelers already knew, were of the ferocious variety known as grizzlies.
In spite of all these thrilling stories there was no disposition manifested on the part of the explorers to back down. They had already met many perils without flinching, and it was too late now to show the white feather.
The summer was now well along, and, before a great while, they could expect to arrive at the headwaters of the Big Muddy. The two captains had decided that, when it was no longer possible to continue with the boats, they would make a permanent camp, where a portion of the expedition could spend the coming winter, while a certain number pushed on, to cross the rocky barrier and reach the sea, if such an accomplishment could be carried out.
Every day began to see changes in the flowing current upon which they had been voyaging for so many months. Remembering its extreme width, down where their homes were located, it was hard indeed for the boys to believe that this narrow ribbon of clear water was the same stream.
“All that its banks hold these days,” Dick had explained to Roger when the other was expressing these ideas, “comes from the melting snows away up in those mountains whose tops we sometimes think we can see far, far away to the west. That is why it is so clear and cold, and the fish we catch now are not like the ones we have often brought in to our mothers at home.”
“The beautiful one, with the specks that were all the colors of the rainbow, must have been some kind of trout,” Roger continued, his face lighting up eagerly, for he was a born angler, “and I only hope we are able to catch many more of the same kind. I never tasted such a fine fish, and the meat was of the true trout color, too.”
“I think we can depend on taking many a fine mess of them from now on,” Dick continued, “though we must try to find out from the Indians just where they lurk in the river. Perhaps one of these smaller creeks, that empty into the Missouri, may turn out to be a good place.”
“To-morrow will be our chance then,” Roger announced, “because I heard Captain Clark tell some of the men we would likely hold over for a day, so as to mend one of the boats that has been leaking badly and needs attention.”