“Wait and see,” was the only satisfaction Dick would give his impetuous companion; but Roger knew that the seed had been planted, and he had reason to believe it must germinate in good season, if all went well.
Then came the camp, as evening approached.
How different it all was to what they had been used to doing. There was apparently no reason for concealment. The fires blazed brightly and cheerfully, and the preparations for cooking the evening meal were gone about in a manner quite the opposite to what they had become accustomed to; the men laughing and chatting as they hovered around the several fires, while sentries, posted by Captain Clark to ensure against any surprise, stood their posts, grim and faithful.
One of the voyageurs, a man named Fields, seemed to be particularly interested in the two lads, and they learned the reason why when they came to chat with him later in the evening, sitting beside a fire.
“I knew Pat O’Mara,” he told them, “and often heard him tell about your fathers, who were to him Bob and Sandy Armstrong. I also knew Daniel Boone and Simon Kenton in the days gone by, for I have roamed over all the country between the Great Lakes and Kentucky. And it pleases me to think that I’ve run across the sons of those pioneers who came down the Ohio River when its banks were lined with savage Shawanees, Delawares and other red foes, waiting for a chance to surprise settlers, and lift their scalps.”
Fields, whose name will be found written on the scroll of fame as a member of that wonderful little party, was a man of more than ordinary intelligence, and both Dick and Roger came to be very fond of him in the long days that followed, as they continued to press on, always into the northwest, with the river gradually becoming smaller the farther they advanced toward its unknown source.
The two Armstrong boys were not willing to simply act as guests, and accept favors. They wanted to do their part toward supplying the expedition with fresh meat while in company with those who had been so kind to them.
So from time to time they went out, generally in the company of some older hunter, like Fields, to look for buffalo, elk, antelope or any other kind of game. And, as had usually been the case in their hunts, the boys were lucky in finding plenty of game; so that before long they began to be looked on as the main source of fresh meat supply for the camp.
They met with more or less adventure while engaged in this work; but nothing of a really serious nature came along. Nor were they so unfortunate as to run across hostile Indians, though constantly warned to keep a sharp lookout for signs of the treacherous Sioux, who were feared more than any of the other tribes along the upper reaches of the “Big Muddy,” as the Missouri came to be called even in those early days, on account of the condition of its turgid waters.
Another thing Dick and Roger bore in mind, and this was the possible presence of the French trader, François Lascelles, and his son Alexis in the neighborhood. Not a thing had they heard concerning this pair since leaving St. Louis, and secretly Dick was hoping that they had been turned back by the innumerable obstacles they must have met with soon after starting.