CHAPTER XV

A HUNT FOR FRESH MEAT

"I FEEL just wild for fresh meat, and I mean to ask father if we can take a little hunt this very afternoon," said Sandy, two days later, while the flatboat was speeding quite merrily down the current.

"Well," remarked his brother, "I would like a chance to get ashore and stretch my legs, just as much as you do. And I hope he says yes, when you ask him. Fish is pretty good, but a fellow gets tired of it as a regular thing, and I don't think that is the finest kind of fish either, that we get. Why, when you took in that slippery mudcat, and we had it for dinner, it tasted better to me."

"We haven't seen a solitary sign of Indians since they tried to get us to come in to the shore," Sandy went on. "And that must have been Girty, himself, who rumpled up his hair, and tried to look so hard pushed. You remember we saw him that time after we got ashore, when our boat was smashed, and when Blue Jacket told that Miami chief, Little Turtle, why he stood up for the Armstrong boys. But I'll come back and let you know what father says."

Ten minutes later he approached Bob again.

"You needn't say a single word," remarked the other, "for I can tell by the look on your face that it's all right."

"Yes, he says that we have been making such good time we can afford to lose an afternoon, or part of one, in order to try to get some fresh meat, because we all feel the need of it. So, before the sun is more than half-way down the sky, he will give orders for the boat to be tied up, if everything looks safe, just like it is right now."

"I'm glad of that," declared Bob; "because, after being used to walking nearly every day, for miles and miles, it comes pretty hard to just sit here, push a sweep, or tramp up and down around the cabin."

"Oh! I just couldn't stand it much longer!" cried Sandy. "I was really thinking that I'd have to jump overboard, and swim ashore, to try my luck, if father didn't want to stop the boat, hoping to catch up with you all below, when you hauled in for the night camp."

Bob looked uneasily at his impulsive younger brother.

"I don't know whether you are joking when you say that, or not, Sandy," he remarked; "but it would be a foolish move to make, and would bring more worry to the heart of mother. I hope you won't think of such a thing at any time. You are getting too big now to let these things have hold of you so much. There are enough troubles to bother our parents without you adding to the burden."

Sandy turned red, and then burst out into a confused laugh.

"Oh! I only said I was _thinking_ of doing something like that, you know," he declared; "but that is as far as it would go, I give you my word, Bob. Whenever I catch myself wanting to jump at things so, I remember what Pat said that day we saw the big stag standing knee deep in the water. Too much hurry, too sudden a move, spoils many a good game. And I guess it's so. I'm trying as hard as I know how to think twice, now, before doing anything."

"That sounds more like you, Sandy, and I'm glad to hear you talk so," continued Bob; "but did father say anything about how we were to hunt this afternoon?"

"There is only one thing he insisted on," the other started to reply, when Bob interrupted him by saying:

"I think I can guess what that was; we must take some one along with us; and of course we'll be only too glad to do it, since it will be Pat O'Mara, who knows more about hunting, and Indian fighting, and taking all fur-bearing animals in traps and snares, than any three others on board."

"Just what he said, I declare! Seems like you must have been close enough to hear it all!" exclaimed Sandy, as if surprised; "and yet that couldn't be, either, for I saw you sitting here all the time I was speaking with father. But I'm glad it's settled. And I do hope we run across plenty of excitement. It is getting what I call dull, with so little happening."

To Bob there was so much to see in the new pictures presented with every bend of the winding river, that he never found the time drag on his hands; but then Sandy was made up along different lines, and could not remain quiet any length, of time without getting nervous.

The time passed slowly, indeed, until they heard the order given to edge the boat in toward the southern shore of the river, so that they could observe it more closely, in order to make sure that enemies were not lurking in the undergrowth.

Pat O'Mara gave it as his opinion that there seemed to be no evidence that the Indians were near by; and, as he, too, wanted to stretch his legs by a little side hunt, it was finally determined to land.

Of course, there must be more or less danger in leaving the protection of the strong cabin of the flatboat, and venturing into the depths of the forest; but, as has been said before, the life of a pioneer is so made up of taking risks that he assumes chances without much thought or anxiety. When the danger came along they would trust to their ability to take care of themselves. And every one of the party felt pretty much the same way.

Mr. Armstrong had a crude chart of the river, but it was founded on almost guesswork, so little was the region to the westward known at the time. The place where Cincinnati now stands was called Fort Washington; and, an indefinite distance further down, another mark on the map showed where Harrodsburg stood, about where the city of Louisville can be found to-day, marking the falls of the Ohio during low water times.

So, apparently, the early settlers had a pretty good eye for the most advantageous natural sites, upon which to found the white man's cities of the future.

What lay beyond Harrodsburg no one really knew. Somewhere, in some manner, the Ohio joined forces with the mighty Mississippi; and this bold little company of men and women were on the way to learn the truth, taking their lives in their hands in so doing.

When the boat had been tied up, Pat and the two boys started into the woods, bent upon bringing back fresh meat if it could be procured by any means in their power.

"Sure," remarked the trapper, when they found themselves out of sight of the river, and surrounded by the primeval forest, "we must be afther kapin' clost enough till each ither to hear a signal whistle. If wees do be afther catchin' that same, it wull mane to come tegither as quickly as yees can. But only a cooie stands for 'all's well, kape on a-huntin' right along wid yees, an' may the bist man win.'"

When they divided their forces, so as to cover more territory, Pat was wise enough to station himself midway between the brothers. Here he could keep in touch with either Sandy or Bob, a different sort of call meaning that he wanted a response from the one it designated, and about whom he might be getting a trifle anxious.

Pat had hunted many a time with such old frontiersmen as Jo Davies, John Hardin and Silas Hardin. He knew pretty much all there was to be learned about the ways of the cunning woods folks, from the little mink up to the great buffalo that, if angered or wounded, would come charging full at the hunter, ready to use his wicked short horns in hurling him many feet into the air, or grinding him into the earth, if he were so unlucky as to be caught napping.

No small game would do for them now. Birds might flush from the thickets and offer splendid pot shots; but they had agreed not to think of taking advantage of anything in the feathered line short of a big wild turkey. And, with so many mouths to feed, Sandy was more inclined to wish they might rout a buffalo out of some thicket, than anything else.

They advanced for some time, without seeing anything that offered a chance for a shot, and Sandy, of course, always impatient, began to think they might, after all, be compelled to return to the boat without any fresh meat, which would be a great pity, since every one yearned so for a feast.

The afternoon was now waning, and they found themselves some distance away from the place where the camp had been made. About this time Pat called the boys to him for a little consultation. He believed that, by altering their course, so as to come upon the river about two miles below the spot where their friends were tied up, the prospects for game would be vastly improved, because the country looked better to his eyes in that quarter.

So the change in direction was made. Bob was just as well satisfied, because he did not much like the idea of keeping on heading deeper and deeper into the great hills that lay back from the river, and which doubtless held more than one village of the hostile red men.

He noticed with some concern that it was even now beginning to grow a little dusk under the tall trees that lifted their lofty heads almost a full hundred feet in the air. And then, just when Bob was wondering if they were to arrive at the river, which could not be more than a quarter of a mile distant, without one single sign of game, he heard the well-known crash of Sandy's gun away over to the left; because Pat carried one of those long-barrelled rifles, with the small bore, that took a patched bullet--one that was enclosed in a greased piece of linen--and made a sharp report entirely different from that of a musket.

Hurrying that way, he found Pat and Sandy bending over a noble young two-pronged buck that had jumped from a thicket where he had been lying, and fallen when the young Nimrod hastily let fly; for Sandy was a clever all-around shot.

Pat set to work, assisted by both the boys, to skin the game, and secure all the edible portions. These parts were made up into three packs, so that each might carry a share of the burden to camp, which was at least two miles distant.

Wondering whether the shot had reached the ears of their friends, and picturing their delight when they sighted all that fine fresh meat, the three were trudging along through the gathering darkness, when, without warning, Pat stumbled, having evidently caught his foot in some trailing vine which he had not seen.

Bob hastened to drop his own burden, and bend over to assist Pat to rise, for he saw that the other seemed to be having some difficulty about doing so. When he heard the trapper groan, Bob's alarm increased.

"What has happened to you, Pat?" asked Sandy, who did not yet understand the cause of the delay, save that their companion had tripped.

"Bad cess to the thing; but I'm afther belavin' that I've gone an' twisted me ankle so bad that 'tis mesilf that can't put the same to the ground; and that manes a long time before we say camp agin, so it do," grumbled the trapper.

Somehow Bob began to feel a little anxiety, as though he scented new difficulties looming up ahead.