“And, unless the weather goes against us when morning comes,” continued Roger, as he fastened up the box so that nothing could get at the bait during the night, “we ought to do some tall fishing, it strikes me. I’d just like to give the whole camp a splendid treat to those beauties of speckled rainbow fish which we believe to be a species of trout.”
All evening long the subject was frequently in his mind, for Roger was one of those persistent persons who, once they have planned anything, can think of little else.
“I tell you what I mean to do after we’ve had our breakfast,” he said at one time during the evening.
“All right,” remarked Dick, who knew how useless it was to try to keep Roger’s mind off his fishing, “suppose you do then, and I’ll jot it down in my notebook, for I’m making up my day’s log, you see. Go on and tell me.”
“If you look over there, Dick, you can see that friendly Indian who has insisted on sticking to us for two days now, walking along the shore, squatting close to our fires, and watching everything we do as though he was head over heels in love with the ways of the palefaces.”
“Yes, I’ve often wondered what he could be thinking about,” admitted Dick. “I’ve seen Captain Lewis trying to talk with him by signs, and often calling one of the men up to help out. From that I judged the Indian might be giving him some valuable information, which was why they allow him to tag after us so long, and even see that he gets his share of food at meal times.”
“Well,” continued Roger, “my idea is to go over to him now, and see if he can understand that we’d like to have him tell us about a good place for fishing in the morning; for, after all, what’s the use of waiting until breakfast time; he might be gone in the night. What do you say to it, Dick?”
“Not a bad scheme,” his chum assented. “And, do you know, I think the brave has taken some little interest in both of us, because a number of times it seemed to me he was watching us closely. There’s your chance now, for that matter, Roger; and, if you find it too hard to make him understand, get Jasper Williams, our good friend, to act as interpreter for you.”
Upon that the impulsive Roger scrambled to his feet and presently he could be seen sitting close to the friendly Indian brave, engaging him in a strange conversation in which hands and smiles took the place of words.
Apparently, Roger finally found the task greater than he could manage, for he called to genial Jasper Williams, who joined them. Then the business of explaining to the dusky son of the wilderness was taken up anew; and with fair success, if the look on Roger’s boyish face meant anything.