OFF ON THE GREAT JOURNEY
"THE hound!" exclaimed Sandy Armstrong, with something of his old
impetuosity.
"But, even as it is, we will outwit him," Dick observed, with that
quiet resolution that was so distinctly a part of his character. "They
can only have a day or so the start of us; and it may not be so hard to
get ahead of his party in the thick of the woods."
"And if he tries any of his tricks on us," broke in the indignant
Roger, "be sure that we will not spare him. We are going to remember
that he is a bad man, who plans to rob us of our homes, and steal the
property our parents have built up here. Yes, it won't be such a fine
day for Monsieur Lascelles when he meets the Armstrong boys face to
face; eh, Dick?"
The bad news Roger had brought from the settlement seemed to cast a
shadow on the coming separation of the boys from those they loved. The
mothers sighed, and had hard work to force a smile when either of the
lads happened to be near. Even the fathers got together many times, and
conferred as to whether one of them should not accompany the boys.
But it seemed as though fate had stepped in to prevent. Sandy had
recently been ill, and had hardly recovered his strength; while Bob,
only a week before, had cut himself in the foot with an axe, so that he
would be hobbling around for a month yet. And, under such conditions,
either one of them would prove a drag on the movements of the boys.
And so it was finally decided that the original plan must be adhered
to, unless they intended to change their minds entirely, and not allow
Dick and Roger to undertake the mission.
The news had the effect of sobering Roger somewhat. He began to realize
more than ever that their venture was to be no jaunt, but a serious
matter, to call for the best efforts they could put forth. Not only
would they be exposed to perils from wild animals, storms that must
sweep over the great mountains from time to time, and constantly beset
by the hostile Indians whose territory they meant to invade; but here
was a new danger in the vindictive and lawless French trader, who would
leave no stone unturned to balk the accomplishment of their mission.
Still, neither dreamed of turning back. They were like old Israel
Putnam--once his hand was at the plow, nothing could swerve him.
Their friends in the St. Louis settlement proved most kind. Many came
out to talk matters over, and some to offer good advice concerning
the many difficulties they had heard of in connection with the trail
leading to the setting sun. And one and all brought something from
their stores that they hoped the boys might find room for among the
packages to be fastened on the packhorse.
It had been decided to take only one extra horse along. Dick had been
instrumental in bringing about this decision. Although he advanced
other reasons, the truth of the matter was that he expected they would
have to abandon any pack animal when dangers began to thicken around
them, and he did not want to be the means of causing greater loss than
was necessary.
Besides, they could carry all they wanted on one animal. There was
a rude tent that had seen much use, cooking utensils, blankets,
some extra clothing, stores intended for food, and some trinkets
that Grandfather Armstrong supplied, such as beads and small
looking-glasses, which his experience told him might be used to gain
the good will of strange tribes of Indians, to whom such trifles would
appeal strongly.
They could not have carried one-quarter of the many articles that
well-meaning women friends of their mothers brought with them. This was
no junketing expedition, on which they could start with a vast amount
of preserves and cakes and such dainties; but a most serious business.
They did not disdain to take some of the pemmican, because that might
come in handy should they be passing through a dangerous section of
country, where it would be risky to discharge a gun, lest by so doing
the sound bring a host of enemies upon them.
Dick had listened to all the stories he could concerning the wilderness
far up the great river. Then he had gone off by himself, and tried to
draw an imaginary chart that would cover the ground. Upon this he had
marked all known points; and around any of which there existed any
doubt he always drew a circle, to indicate that proof was needed.
No doubt this chart was a crude affair, and, if seen nowadays, when
every mile of the distance has been measured and mapped by geographers,
it would cause a smile; but, in the absence of anything definite, it
gave the boys a certain amount of confidence; and, moreover, as they
went along, and certain features were proved to be grossly exaggerated,
they could make changes.
And if they were fortunate enough to come back again, what pride they
could take in exhibiting that altered chart, which had been built
up week after week, as they pierced farther and farther into the
wilderness.
The eventful day dawned bright and clear.
It seemed a friendly omen to Dick Armstrong as he went about his
morning duties as though nothing out of the ordinary was about to take
place, so well under control did the boy hold himself.
They gathered in the big cabin of Grandfather Armstrong for dinner,
every soul of the little settlement, and at the table the old man asked
that the blessings of Heaven might follow those two bold lads as they
started out upon their adventure.
It would have been a cheerless meal indeed, had not Dick taken things
in hand, and joked in a way quite unlike his usual self. But his father
and uncle understood how full the lad's heart was, and that he was
forced to assume such levity in order not to break down.
Finally the meal ended, but to most of those who took part it was more
like a funeral feast than a banquet in spite of the good things with
which Grandmother Armstrong and Aunt Kate had prepared.
And now the time had come to say good-by.
The horses were ready, fresh, and apparently eager to be moving,
unconscious of the fact that in all probability they would never more
see the home stable.
Despite their efforts to appear gay, the hearts of the boys seemed
to be in their throats, so that in the end, when it came each lad's
turn to embrace his mother a second time, turning to her last of all,
neither Dick nor Roger could utter a single word.
But boyish nature is apt to soon recover from these things; and once
they had shut out the familiar scene, and turned their faces toward
the west, they gradually recovered their customary spirits.
[Illustration: "AT THE EDGE OF THE WOODS THEY STOPPED THEIR HORSES, AND
TURNED IN THE SADDLE TO WAVE A FAREWELL."]
At the edge of the woods they stopped their horses, and turned in the
saddle to wave a farewell. Across the field there welled the hearty
calls of fathers and grandfather; while the shrill voice of Sam bade
them not to forget that they had promised to fetch him back some
memento of the country on the upper reaches of the Missouri, which some
day, if he lived to be a man, he meant to visit for himself.
"Ready, Roger?" asked Dick, in a husky tone; for he knew that the
sooner his impulsive cousin were started, so that the trees might shut
out all view of those loved faces, the better.
"Yes, come on, Dick!" answered the other, gulping hard.
A word to the horses, and they were off. The heavy woods immediately
came between, and, even though they turned in the saddle again, nothing
of their home could they see.
The boys rode at a fast pace, because it seemed to agree with their
spirits, just then, and they felt that they wanted to place some
distance between themselves and home, possibly lest their resolution
fail them.
And in thus making their start upon such a tremendous undertaking, what
strange pictures must have occupied the minds of the adventurous pair,
as they surveyed that uncertain future, which might be peopled with
such adventures as mortals had never before dreamed of meeting?
But, just as Dick had foreseen would be the case, in half an hour both
had seemingly recovered their spirits and were looking hopefully to the
future to fulfill some of the many dreams that had filled their minds
ever since the subject of the long journey had been broached.