“And that is from the northwest, while our camp lies back yonder, more in the northeast,” admitted Roger. “I admit that, when I spoke, I was picturing a horde of half-naked Indians trying to carry the camp by storm, and Captain Clark rallying his defenders behind the breastworks we built out of pine logs and earth.”
“It is nothing of that sort, I am sure,” said Dick, “though, when you ask me to explain the origin of that sound, I am as much in the dark as you.”
“Well, as our way lies toward the northwest,” remarked Roger, “there’s some satisfaction in knowing we will be getting closer to the mystery all the time.”
“I am glad to see that you are not afraid, Roger.”
“There can be no telling what state I may be in before we get out of this strange country,” admitted Roger, laughingly. But Dick knew him too well to think he could show any sign of fear.
Mayhew said little, for he was naturally a man of few words. He could not be reckoned as above the average of his class; and possibly there was a well-defined streak of superstition in his nature, even as it was to be found in other bordermen of the day.
Left to his own devices, perhaps Mayhew would have much preferred not to advance any further into this unknown and terrifying land. He had no particular desire to learn whether the stories told were true or false; and the camp that had been left behind held many alluring claims to his regard.
But his honor as a reliable borderman was in the balance. He could not forget that, chiefly through his carelessness, there had been lost a paper entrusted to his charge, which was of the utmost value to these lads.
Hence he was firmly resolved to stand by them, no matter what happened, for the object of their venture was to duplicate the document he had allowed to slip out of his hands.
“There is the river over yonder; I can see the sun shining on the tumbling water of one of the numerous cataracts,” Dick commented, as he pointed in the direction indicated.