“I can see what the result will be if Grandfather takes a hand in it,” remarked Bob, with a shrug of his shoulders; “but then, it seems to be a case of ‘old men for council; young men for war,’ and we surely ought to listen to what he has to say of the project, after he has heard both sides.”
The younger boy, Sam, who had been listening to all this amazing talk with eagerness, now broke in with:
“But I can shoot a rifle as well as Dick, and know lots about trailing, and all those things Pat O’Mara used to teach me before he died; why must I stay at home if Dick goes, father?”
“That would never do!” declared Dick, immediately. “Mother could not stand the absence of both her boys at the same time. Who would do the hunting and fishing then, while father worked the farm? Where would the meat come from, Sam? No; if I go, you must take my place, and show what you can do. Besides, while you are strong for your years, a boy of twelve could hardly expect to keep up with those who are so much older. Oh! no, it would not do at all.”
Sam was inclined to protest, but he saw his mother’s grieved face; and something there seemed to give his heart a wrench. Perhaps it was the thought of being separated from her by hundreds of miles of wilderness, never, perhaps, to see her again in this life; for, after all, Sam was only a very young boy, and he had not been tried so severely as his father and uncle in their early days.
“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to stay home, and take your place, Dick; but some fine day I mean to see that Golden West for myself, remember that,” he said, and, somehow, his taking it for granted that the parents’ consent was sure to be given to his brother’s daring project did more to hasten the decision than anything that had as yet occurred.
“Come,” remarked Bob, “let us all go to Grandfather Armstrong’s, and talk it over. I want to see what Sandy thinks, before I make up my mind;” but Dick knew from his father’s manner that already he had been partly won over.
So they all trooped out, and were soon entering the central cabin.
David Armstrong was now getting quite old. Thirty years had passed since he came down the Ohio on a flatboat, seeking a new home in the wilderness; and his hair was as white as the snows that came with each succeeding winter. He was not able to do much manual labor himself, but hired help to look after his extensive holdings, that already had increased ten times in value, and would be worth a fortune later on, if they could only manage to retain possession of them.