The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri; or, In the Country of the Sioux

by St. George Rathborne

  CHAPTER XIX

  THE LOST RIVER

  WHEN several more days had passed, and the boys found that they hadagain lost track of the river in seeking to save time by making acut-off, Roger was very much downcast.

  There was some reason for this, too, since it had really been hisfault; Dick thinking it best to stick to the river, while his cousinargued that they would gain a whole day by saving the time spent infollowing the winding course of the stream.

  And so they had struck out, taking more chances than were perhapsadvisable under the circumstances. And now neither could say in whichdirection they must look in order to once more come upon the river.

  Dick did not attempt to chide his companion. On the contrary, he eventook a part of the blame on his own shoulders, and in speaking of themistake, if such it should prove to be, always used the words "_our_blunder." He knew very well that Roger was suffering enough withouthaving "salt rubbed into his open cuts." And the chances were, nomatter how the experiment turned out, Roger after that would be slow toinsist on having his own way.

  Dick went about it in a cool, matter-of-fact way. He consulted hiscrude little chart, made up pretty much at a guess, for informationhad come in a dozen roundabout ways, none of which were strictlyreliable. Then he took his bearings with relation to the sun, theirprevious course, and some other things that seemed to have an intimateconnection with the case.

  After that he laid out a new trail, and marked it on the map,explaining to his admiring and now repentant companion just how hebelieved they must head in order to once again reach the Big Muddy.

  "And I feel so sure that we will strike it by keeping on toward thenorth that we must let nothing turn us from that course," he ended,with a ring to his voice that told of determination.

  "What if we run on to an Indian village, because we are now in thecountry of the Shoshones, you know?" Roger remarked.

  "Then we'll just wait for night," replied the other, quietly, "and passthe wigwams by as close as we dare; for I would not want to make toowide a circuit. And now let us make a fresh start."

  This had been on the previous day to the one on which we again find theundaunted lads pushing directly into the north, bent on finding theriver again.

  Once more had the character of the country changed. The prairie hadgiven place to rolling land, where grew stretches of trees. In thedistance they could even see low elevations that might be called hills.Roger had been looking eagerly toward these, and hoping that they wouldre-discover the Missouri among them. Now that the river was lost itseemed to have additional value in the eyes of the two boys; and itwas certain that they would welcome the first glimpse of its swiftlyflowing waters with delight--at least Roger felt sure he would.

  The sun was getting rather low in the heavens again, and once morethey would soon have to be looking for some place to pitch their camp;but it was not so serious a matter when surrounded by a forest, wherewood was in abundance, and numerous chances for hiding a cooking fireabounded.

  Truth to tell, both boys always felt more at home when in the woods.They had been accustomed to seeing trees all around them; and thoseapparently endless level prairies, where not a stick of timber couldbe seen as far as their eyes traveled, rather appalled them, and madethem feel almost helpless. One had to grow accustomed to these vastsolitudes, and the monotony of that waving sea of grass, before hecould feel at home.

  "Keep your eyes well about you as we ride on, Roger," Dick warned, notin a way to create alarm in the mind of his companion, but as though hewished to remind him that their policy was always to be prepared foremergencies, and never to be caught off their guard.

  "You haven't seen any sign of Indians around, I hope?" asked Roger,suspiciously.

  "No, I'm glad to say not; but then there are sometimes other dangerslurking in a wood like this. They have panthers out here as well as wedid down near our homes. And, while such a beast may never have seteyes on white people before, I reckon he'd jump down at us just asquick as if we were red boys, if it so happened that he was hungry."

  "Yes, the panther is a sly beast, but when pressed for a meal he willtake chances every time," returned Roger. "You remember that one wemet in the timber on a winter's day, just as the snow-storm commencedto gather. I saw him leave the limb just in the nick of time. I thinkhe gave a little snarl as he sprang; and if it hadn't been for that hemight have borne me to the ground. As it was I managed to duck likea flash, so that he leaped right over me; and before he could swingaround after recovering, your rifle had spoken, and it was all up withMr. Panther."

  "Yes, and cases are known when men have been attacked openly on thetrail by these gray woods terrors," Dick went on, as though the subjectpossessed a certain fascination for him.

  "The trouble is," Roger continued, "you never know just how to take oneof them. Sometimes a panther may seem to be the biggest coward going;and another day the same beast wouldn't hesitate at attacking threemen. Some hunters say they get crazy fits, and, when one of these comeson, the person who runs across a panther had better look out. But if Isee a 'painter,' as old Pat O'Mara used to call them, I'm ready to givehim the compliments of my gun, and without any palaver, too."

  After that they lapsed into silence, each doubtless occupied with histhoughts. Indeed, they had much pressing on their young minds aboutthis time, when the fate of their mission was still in serious doubt.If it should fail, and all their long trip have been taken for nothing,they did not really know how they should have the courage to turn back,and retrace all these weary hundreds of miles down the river.

  And whenever Roger became silent it could be taken for granted thathe was allowing his thoughts to roam in a certain direction; inimagination picturing the happy day when he and his cousin would reachthe home settlement, bringing with them, duly signed and witnessed, theprecious document that was to bring such happiness to their loved ones.

  The horses plodded on, with Dick keeping a guiding hand on his bridle,and occasionally glancing to the right, and to the left. Then he wouldlook upward, so as to get his bearings from the position of thewestering sun, which was of course on their left now, and could only beseen now and then, when there came a rift in the timber.

  They would soon be compelled to pick out a camp site, for the day hadalmost reached its close. Roger was sighing because they had failed toreach the river, as he had fondly hoped would be the case at the timethey started out that morning. And he was mentally chiding himselffor the twentieth time that day, on account of having insisted on theexperiment of saving time by taking a "cut-off." No matter what thetemptation might be, he was determined never again to try and influenceDick when the other thought differently from him. Dick was a bornguide. He always figured things out accurately, and was seldom if everknown to go amiss when leading the expedition out of trouble; whereashe, Roger, was a bungler and only fit to tag behind, ready to assist.

  Neither of the boys had spoken a word for nearly ten minutes. Roger waswaiting to hear his comrade say that they had better pull up, and stopfor the night. Much as he wished to halt, and prepare supper, for hewas really hungry, he would not mention the fact to Dick, being tooproud to exhibit any weakness. And the memory of how he had broughtabout all this trouble hung like a heavy burden upon Roger's mind justthen.

  Around them the silence of the forest was broken only by the chatteringof little ground squirrels, known to-day as chipmunks; or it mightbe the scolding of the hasty tempered blue jay in the branches of acottonwood tree.

  When, therefore, a sound of an entirely different nature struck uponthe ears of the boys, they were greatly startled. It was almost ashriek, and both were of the impression that it was a woman's voice.

  Their horses began to prance, as though the unusual noise had giventhem a start, or else from some other unseen cause.

  These boys of the border had always been brought up to be courteous tothe other sex. They would go far out of their way to render aid to awoman or child in distress. And therefore, when the
y heard what seemedto them to be a cry of terror, and apparently in a woman's voice, thefirst thought of both was to dig their heels into the sides of theirhorses, and urge the beasts forward in the direction whence the soundseemed to come.

  It struck them as strange how unwilling the animals seemed to be toadvance; and this fact caused Dick to entertain suspicions. EitherIndians were about, and the intelligent beasts knew it, or else somesort of terrible wild animal lurked among the thickets close by, andhad been scented by the horses.

  But, under the urging of their masters, even the horses had to giveway, though it was evident that they made the advance with reluctance.

  And in this fashion, then, did they break through the screen of bushes,so that they stood upon the border of what seemed a forest glade.

  What they discovered there was a picture neither of the lads would everforget.

  An old Indian squaw was brandishing a heavy billet of wood, which shehad evidently hastily snatched up. Cowering under her protecting armwas a little girl of perhaps seven years of age--a pretty child, thoughundoubtedly also an Indian.

  And crouching on the limb of a nearby tree, lashing its tail to andfro, as it worked itself up into a rage in order to launch forth uponits intended victims, was the largest gray panther either of the boyshad ever seen.

  It had come upon the squaw and her helpless charge suddenly, and, withthe craftiness of its kind, was holding back its final spring, just asa domestic cat will allow a mouse to crawl away before pouncing on it.

  At any second now the terrible beast might launch itself out, and crushthe brave old squaw under its weight.

  It was impulsive Roger, always as quick as lightning to act, who wasthe first to hurl himself into action.