“I should be glad of that,” ventured Sandy, heaving a little sigh as his eye roved toward their mother, just climbing down from the side of the boat, assisted by the steady hand of her husband; “for mother has grown weary of this wandering. She wants to have her own fire to work over, and cook meals for her family, instead of the whole company.”
“Suppose we look around a little,” suggested Bob.
“Count me in with you on that,” agreed the other, quickly, for it was just what Sandy was about to propose himself, being fairly wild to do a little exploring on his own hook.
Of course they carried their guns as they left the vicinity of the flatboat, for the pioneer of that day never knew at what moment he would have urgent need of his weapons.
Pat was no longer in sight. He had started to circle rapidly around, and had already covered so much territory that it seemed as if there certainly could be nothing near by that might be dangerous.
A rabbit jumped out from almost under their feet; squirrels frisked among the oaks that grew in abundance in the woods; plump partridges whirred when they happened to stir the brush, and inside of five minutes these evidences of the abundance of small game had Sandy laughing in great glee.
“Oh! I guess none of those stories could have been untrue, brother,” he declared, as they glimpsed a deer that had evidently been lying down near by, and was only disturbed by their approach; “why, I came near getting a shot at that doe; but, when that branch closed in behind her flank, I thought it would be silly to fire, with only a chance of wounding the poor thing. Mother has taught us not to be cruel when we take our toll of meat, and I am glad now I did not fire.”
“I believe you will have plenty of chances to shoot all you want, if father decides to stay right around here,” remarked Bob. “As for myself, I fancy that fine ridge just back there. If our cabin topped that, we could see up and down the river, just as we used to do, before, up on the Ohio; but what a different thing the Mississippi is from its tributary!”
“But,” broke in Sandy, just then, “didn’t you hear Pat tell about that other big river that comes down from the unknown country away off to the northwest, and empties its volume of water into the Mississippi not two hundred miles north of the mouth of the Ohio? He said it was the real Mississippi, and that the Indians so regarded it, because it comes from so far away, hundreds and hundreds of miles, so that no man knows the beginning, up in the country of the Crows; and the strange Indians with the white skin, called the Mandans; and the Sioux, who, the French say, are the most savage fighters of all the red race.”
Bob looked at his brother doubtfully. He knew something was working on the mind of the boy, for he was used to reading the signs.