CHAPTER IX
THE SPIRIT OF THE PIONEER
“Oh! there goes the Hutchinson cabin, swept away down the river!” arose a cry from near by; and, looking out, the boys saw that it was indeed too true.
With the rising of the water the stout cabin had finally been lifted from its foundations, and, the last they saw of it, the current was making a plaything of what had only a short time before been a happy home.
“Ours may be the next!” was Sandy’s choking exclamation, as he and Bob continued to stand there and watch.
Every time there was a lurch to the log building that seemed to presage its destruction, Sandy would press his hand over his eyes, as though he could not bear the sight; and a moment later the cheering voice of his brother would assure him that the peril had passed, at least for that time, as the sturdily-built cabin still held out.
So the early dawn found the dismal settlement on the bank of the Ohio.
Men stood moodily about, watching the destruction of their homes, and feeling very bitter toward the river that was robbing them so mercilessly. Again and again did some one turn the conversation to that subject which had engrossed the mind of Sandy Armstrong for so long—the charms of the rich land to be found away off toward the region of the setting sun, where the Mississippi rolled its mighty flood, and abundance awaited the coming of bold pioneers capable of turning the black soil that would grow fabulous crops.