The Pioneer Boys of the Yellowstone
Lost in the Land of Wonders
9781465647825
118 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
“I think we have gone far enough from the camp, Roger.” “Just as you say, Dick. I never seem to know when to stop, once I get started.” “And it’s easy to start you, too. That was why the boys, back at the settlement of St. Louis, came to call you ‘Headstrong Roger.’” “Well, Dick, I hope to outgrow that fault in time. You know my father was the same way, when he and Uncle Bob used to hunt and trap and fish on the Ohio River, and later along the Mississippi.” “It seems hard to believe, Roger, that we are so far from our homes. Sometimes I shut my eyes and can picture all the dear ones again—father,mother, and my younger brother, Sam.” “Yes, but here we are, hundreds and hundreds of miles from them, and in the heart of the Western wilderness,” said the boy who had been called Roger; “and planning to spend the coming winter with our good friends Captain Lewis and Captain Clark.” “Sometimes,” remarked his companion, “I am sorry we determined to stay here and winter near the Mandan Indian village. We might have turned back and gone home, along with the messengers who were dispatched with documents for the President at Washington.” “And who also carried the precious paper that Jasper Williams signed, which will save our parents’ homes from being taken away from them by that scheming French trader, Lascelles.” “And yet,” observed Dick, thoughtfully, “when I think of the wonderful things we have seen, and what a glorious chance we have of setting eyes on the great Pacific Ocean next summer, I am glad we decided to stay up here on this strange river of the wilderness that in the Indian tongue means Yellowstone.” “It is a different stream from the ‘Big Muddy’ or the Missouri, and as full of rapids as it can be. Before long the expedition will have to abandon all boats, and trust to the horses to carry the camp outfit over the mountains to the west.” “Listen, Roger, what was that sound?” “I thought it was the whinny of a horse,” replied the impetuous one of the pair, as they dropped behind some brush that grew on the brow of a gradual slope leading to a lower level. “And it came from below us, too. What could a horse be doing here? Do you think any of our men are out after fresh meat to-day?” “There are a few horses among some of the Indian tribes around here, and it might be—there, look, something is coming yonder, Dick!” “Don’t move again, Roger; it is an Indian brave, and there follows another, treading in his trail.” “They are not of our friends, the Mandans, Dick, and they don’t look like the Sioux we met a while ago. There come three more, and now I can see the horse!” “H’sh! Not a whisper now, and lie as still as a rock. They have sharp eyes, even if they are not on the warpath.” Roger knew why his cousin made this last remark, for the horse was dragging two poles after him, the ends of which trailed on the ground. Upon this primitive wagon rested quite a pile of stuff, evidently the skin teepee of the family and other articles, as well as a buxom squaw and a small papoose. Back of the first horse came a second, similarly equipped, and then another tall, half-naked brave, armed with bow and arrows. Dick knew that the little procession was a portion of some Indian community moving their camp to a place where the game would be more abundant, for this was the season when they laid in their winter store of jerked venison or “pemmican.” “Don’t move yet, Roger,” whispered Dick, after the last figure had gone some little distance along the trail; “I believe there is another party coming. Yes, I can already see them a little way back there. Just crouch down and watch.”
