Roger was not a whit behind him in climbing into his saddle. It was no easy job doing this on account of the many bundles with which both horses were burdened, so that “climbing” would seem to cover the case very well.
When the horses were urged to start off on a gentle gallop Roger declared he felt very much like giving a whoop, to signify his delight at having so cleverly outwitted the red foe; but his cousin advised him to hold his breath.
“You know, Roger,” Dick said, in his quiet but convincing way, “that old Pat O’Mara, our father’s best friend, used to say an Indian had no business to crow until he was in the woods, and by the same token a white was a fool to shout till he was well out of them. And though we’re over the divide, and riding on level country, we are not beyond the danger line yet. So, if you’re wise, you’ll bottle up that cheer until we see the expedition of Captain Lewis, boats and horses, ahead of us.”
And of course Roger held his peace, for he had considerable respect for the opinions of his older companion.
They must have covered at least six or eight miles before the horses showed unwillingness to go farther without a rest. Dick then announced that they had come far enough.
And so once more, for the third time that night, the lads staked the animals out, and lay down on their blankets under the twinkling stars.
Roger insisted on his cousin taking a turn at sleeping, while he sat there and kept vigil; which Dick finally did, though a little loath to shut his eyes. However, he secured quite a few hours’ nap; and then Roger awakened him, so that he might in turn get a little more sleep before the coming of another dawn warned them that it was time to proceed.
Morning found them fairly rested after their hard night, and so far as they could tell there was no sign of the Indians. Evidently the hunting party had given up all hope of overtaking the fugitives when they found that the horses had climbed the ridge and struck the level country beyond.