When he once more rejoined his chum he was fairly bubbling over with enthusiasm, so that Dick was not at all surprised to hear him exclaim:
“The finest of luck ever, Dick! Would you believe it? that brave tells us there is a small stream emptying into the Missouri a couple of miles above the camp, and that it is reckoned the best place for those big fat trout around this section of the country.”
“That is good news, indeed,” remarked Dick, also pleased. “So we can look forward to supplying the camp with a mess of fish, if all goes well.”
“Not only did he tell us that,” continued the eager lad, “but he agreed to go along with us, and show where the best holes lie; for in hot weather, you know, all trout leave the shallows and gather in the deep, dark pools. If we didn’t know just where those places were we might waste a lot of time trying.”
At the time Dick thought they were very fortunate to be able to command the services of the friendly Indian, and he mentioned this belief to Roger.
“He seems to have taken a great fancy to the whites, and, no matter if he does eat like a hungry dog, we must not complain. He will hardly wish to go much further from his own people, and we may expect to wake up some fine morning to find that the brave has slipped off during the night.”
“So long as he does not steal one of our horses or guns nobody will complain, I guess,” chuckled Roger. “These Indians are a light-fingered set, take them all in all, and Jasper Williams says he never would trust one out of his sight.”
Having made all their fishing arrangements the boys soon afterwards sought their shelter made from branches, and wrapped in their blankets tried to find sleep.
The camp was governed with military strictness, and there were sentries on duty all through the night, for Captain Clark had this part of the arrangements in charge. Not once up to this time had they been taken by surprise, though on several occasions roving bands of Blackfeet or Dacotahs had tried to steal their horses, only to meet with failure.