THE PIONEER BOYS OF
THE MISSOURI

OR: IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SIOUX

THE YOUNG PIONEER SERIES

BY HARRISON ADAMS
ILLUSTRATED

Other Volumes in Preparation

THE PAGE COMPANY
53 Beacon Street, Boston, Mass.

“A SQUAW DARTED FORWARD, . . . AND, SEIZING HOLD OF ROGER, LOOKED EAGERLY IN HIS FACE.”
See [page 335].

The Young Pioneer Series

THE PIONEER BOYS
OF THE MISSOURI
OR: IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SIOUX

By HARRISON ADAMS

Author of “The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio,” “The Pioneer Boys
on the Great Lakes,” “The Pioneer Boys of the
Mississippi,” etc.

Illustrated by
WALTER S. ROGERS

THE PAGE COMPANY
BOSTON

MDCCCCXIV

PREFACE

My Dear Boys:—It is with great pleasure that I have responded to my publisher’s appeal for a new volume in connection with boy pioneer life during those early days in the history of our country when brave men, and women also, kept pushing the frontier line constantly westward, toward the setting sun.

Since Bob and Sandy Armstrong came to the end of their migrations when they settled on the land purchased by old David, near the junction of the Missouri River with the mighty Mississippi, it is obvious that little that is new could be written concerning those old friends of ours.

But as it happened that they founded families of their own, and each had a son who was said to be a “chip of the old block,” the story of young pioneer achievements can best be continued by transferring our allegiance to these two sturdy lads, Dick and Roger, whom, I feel sure, you will like fully as well as you did their fathers.

Just at the time when they had become strapping lads, ready to place full confidence in their ability to take care of themselves, it chanced that a wonderful opportunity came to them, whereby they were enabled to traverse the course of the great Missouri River from its mouth to its far-away source among the Rocky Mountains.

What this opportunity was like, and what astonishing things they met with on the long and dangerous journey, I have endeavored to describe and set down between the covers of this present book. I trust that you will enjoy reading it fully as well as you did the preceding volumes; and that at some date in the near future we may meet again in the pages of still another story of boy pioneer life.

Harrison Adams.

April 15th, 1914.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE Preface [v] I. Two Boys in a Dugout Canoe [1] II. The Hollow Tree Refuge [15] III. A Shadow over the Homestead [27] IV. The Cabin of Bob Armstrong [38] V. A Grand Palaver [48] VI. Bad News [58] VII. Off on the Great Journey [68] VIII. The Track of the Marked Hoof [76] IX. Along the Bank of the Missouri [86] X. The Twang of a Bowstring [98] XI. “All, or None!” [110] XII. The Hidden Camp [122] XIII. On the Billowy Prairie [134] XIV. The Buffalo Stampede [148] XV. Safe in the Timber [158] XVI. The Perils of the Wilderness [169] XVII. A Close Call [181] XVIII. Brought to Bay by the Wolf Pack [195] XIX. The Lost River [207] XX. Casting Bread upon the Waters [217] XXI. The Picture Writing on the Bark [227] XXII. Caught in a River Trap [237] XXIII. The Rising Waters [247] XXIV. A Bitter Disappointment [257] XXV. The Village of the Mandans [270] XXVI. Strange Sights [286] XXVII. At the Salt-lick [299] XXVIII. Running Elk, the Sioux Chief [311] XXIX. A Desperate Situation [328] XXX. The Dawn Breaks—Conclusion [337] Notes [351]

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

The Pioneer Boys of the
Missouri

CHAPTER I
TWO BOYS IN A DUGOUT CANOE

“We are on the worse side of the river, Cousin Roger, if a storm breaks!”

“That is true, Dick; but it may not come down on us for hours yet; and the fish are taking hold finely now.”

“Yes, and no one likes to pull them in better than I do; but it seems to me we already have enough in the dugout to supply the whole Armstrong settlement.”

“Then mother can send some down to the Cragans in the St. Louis settlement; for they are old, and Mr. Cragan seldom goes out on the Missouri nowadays. Just wait a little longer, Dick. Oh! what a tug that was! Why, they keep getting bigger all the while. Look, the finest buffalo fish we’ve taken this afternoon, Dick! Did you ever see such a savage fighter? It makes my arms ache to drag him in against this current.”

“Mine have been feeling sore for a long time, now; but, when you get fishing, Roger, you never do know when to stop. Well, I’ll give in again, and stay a little longer, though I think we are taking big chances with that storm. But you must put a limit on the fish to be taken. When we have three more, no matter whether they are large or small, we’ll wind up our lines and cross the river.”

“Make it five, Dick, please; that’s only a little thing when the fish are biting as they are now.”

“Just as you say, Roger; but not another one, no matter what happens.”

“Oh! I always keep my word, even if they do call me Headstrong Roger, just as my father, Sandy Armstrong, was before me. Five it shall be, Dick; and see! that can take only a little while; because I’ve hooked one before my line was more than half-way out. And see him fight, will you? This is the best fishing we’ve had this year. It makes me think of the great times our fathers used to have, away up on the Ohio, where they built their first log cabin, before Grandfather Armstrong emigrated to the new Mississippi country.”

For several minutes talkative Roger had to devote all his attention to pulling in the large captive that struggled at the end of his line; and, as his cousin also felt a savage tug about the same time, both were busily engaged.

We may take advantage of their occupation for a brief time to explain just who were the two lads, thus engaged upon the rolling current of the great Missouri River, far back in the summer of the year 1804, when English speaking people were few and far between in this new region, but recently acquired by the United States. ([Note 1].)[1]

Years before the grandparents of these lads had left Virginia at the solicitation of the great hunter and backwoodsman, Daniel Boone, who had discovered the richness of the Kentucky country, and was trying to induce settlers to occupy it, despite the savage Indians who resisted their advance.

They had settled on the Ohio, and, with other hardy souls, started to develop homes in the wilderness; and here the two sons of David Armstrong, Bob and Sandy, met with many strange adventures that have been narrated in the first volume of this series.[2]

Later on, a terrible flood, such as the Ohio valley had never before known at that early day, when its banks were lined with primeval forests, had swept the cabins of many of the settlers away, and so discouraged them that a party decided to build a floating house on a raft, and go further down the river, looking for new homesteads in the wilderness, this time in the valley of the mighty Mississippi.

This houseboat had managed to run the gauntlet of all sorts of perils from hostile Shawanees and jealous French trappers, who resented the invasion of what they believed to be their territory by the daring English settlers.

In the end the mighty Mississippi had been reached, and at first the Armstrongs had tried to establish their new home below the junction of the two rivers. It was, however, just before the breaking out of the Revolutionary War, when, over the entire country, settlers were taking sides, either in favor of the colonists or the king; and, as fortune would have it, the sentiment in the little community around the Armstrongs seemed to be so saturated with what they called “loyalty” to the far-distant sovereign that by degrees things became utterly unbearable to old David and his stalwart sons.

Conditions had altered so much that in these dark days the French, who had all along been looked upon as enemies, now became warm friends of the colonists. This came about not so much through change of sentiment on the part of the French as a desire to strike back at King George by lending assistance to his rebellious colonies; but, whatever might be the reason, the Armstrongs were content to accept the new order of things, and make the best of them.

Accordingly old David went away prospecting, and later on returned with wonderful accounts of the splendid opening that awaited those who would settle down close to the new and enterprising border trading post, which had been named St. Louis in honor of the French king.

In the end they had once more “pulled up stakes,” though it was not so hard to do so this time, as they had not become greatly attached to the home on the shore of the Mississippi, or their intensely patriotic neighbors, who delighted to annoy them because they favored the cause of Washington and his “rebels,” as the Continental army was called at that time.

In their new location near St. Louis the Armstrongs had labored hard to make a permanent home. As the years slipped past, the boys had grown to young manhood; and presently the older brother, Bob, married the daughter of another settler on an adjoining farm, one Nancy Adams.

In due time a second cabin was constructed, to which Bob took his young wife; and just a year later Sandy followed his example, marrying the young school teacher, Phoebe Shay, and also erecting a home of his own; so that there was now quite a little settlement of the Armstrongs, with old David as the head of the family.

As the months and years passed children came who called David grandfather; Bob had two boys named Dick and Sam; while Sandy rejoiced in the possession of a sturdy lad, Roger, and a sweet girl who was named Mary, after her Grandmother Armstrong.

When David obtained the tract of land upon which he settled, and which was just outside the limits of St. Louis, he believed that he had done all that was necessary to secure his title to the same. And, as he watched the adjoining settlement augment in size as the years passed on, Mr. Armstrong congratulated himself on having laid a foundation for his family that would bear much valuable fruit in course of time.

The King of France had given this whole tract to certain Frenchmen in consideration of services which they had rendered the Crown; and in turn they had passed portions over to new arrivals as the result of bargains that were struck between them.

But, as frequently happens, there was always a possibility that, in times to come, a missing link might be discovered in the title, calculated to bring about trouble for the possessors.

Here amidst these pleasant surroundings the children of the Armstrong brothers grew up, and began to take their places in the little community of which they were destined to form important units.

As the boys grew older they naturally took to the same things that had been of such prime importance in the lives of their fathers. Hunting and fishing were of the utmost necessity to these early pioneers, since only by such means were they enabled to provide for many of the family wants. Indeed, but for the bounty of Nature in supplying such vast quantities of game, the task of settling the waste places of our country would have been a much more difficult one than was the case.

Of course, as their two sons grew tall and more manly, Bob and Sandy Armstrong went less and less into the forest, and out upon the waters, contenting themselves with an occasional hunt in the season of laying in “pemmican,” as the dried venison and buffalo meat of the Indians was called, for the winter’s store. They had plenty to do in developing their farms, for the work in those days was much more exacting than in recent years, when so many labor-saving farm implements are used.

Those who have read the earlier volumes in this series of pioneer books can easily understand that if the two lads, Dick and Roger, resembled their fathers as much as people said, they were a pair of resolute young fellows when, at about the age of fifteen, we make their acquaintance.

Dick was steady-going, though he could be as quick as a flash should the necessity require. He was more apt to deliberate, and do the right thing, than his younger cousin, Roger, who had inherited his father’s, Sandy Armstrong’s, impetuous nature, and was inclined to be a little reckless.

Both were good-hearted, manly boys, and blessings to their parents. They had early in life learned many of the secrets of woodcraft as known to those hardy, early pioneers, and could read the signs of the trail as well as most old trappers, accustomed to spending their lives in the wilderness, where danger lurked back of every falling leaf, with hostile Indians, and revengeful French trappers, hovering around.

The English were numerous at the St. Louis settlement, and had, moreover, taken such good measures to fortify the post that no successful foray was ever engineered by the allied tribes of the West looking to its reduction. And as a certain wampum belt, presented to the Armstrong boys by the great sachem, Pontiac, for valuable services which they had rendered to him,[3] still seemed to possess a potent power over the Sacs, Pottawatomies, Foxes, and other tribes of Indians, the little settlement above St. Louis, on the Missouri, had never once been molested by the redskins, though other places had been attacked from year to year.

It was at this time, with spring only lately passed, that we find the cousins out upon the Missouri, enjoying their favorite occupation, and having such great sport that Roger could hardly be convinced that they should give up the fishing if they hoped to cross the wide river, and reach home, before the threatening storm broke.

It had promised rain nearly all day, which had been a rather hot, muggy one; but, as it seemed to be the finest fishing day they had enjoyed all season, both boys had taken chances in coming out. There were times when the stock of provisions ran rather low at home, since the crops were only getting their early summer growth, and fresh fish would always be acceptable among the Armstrongs.

Roger had so much trouble with his latest capture that Dick brought his to the boat before his cousin could. Perhaps this was because he went about his task with deliberation; while the other lad, in his eagerness, allowed the heavy fish to drag the line out several times, on account of not being prepared for his sudden rushes.

This fact is only mentioned in a casual way to let the reader understand thus early in the story what the different natures of our two heroes were; for doubtless there will occur many instances when these leading characteristics must stand out most prominently.

“That makes two of the five, Dick!” gasped Roger, as he managed to unhook his capture, and, after once more baiting his stout hook, cast it far out into the rolling stream for a fresh trial.

“Yes,” replied the other, who had already allowed his own line to run out to its full limit; “and, if they keep on taking hold as they have been doing, we’ll soon have the other three in the dugout. But you never can tell with fish. They stop biting all of a sudden, and nothing you can do will tempt them to start in again.”

“There comes another big one, Dick! Oh! isn’t it too mean, he just gave a terrible plunge, and broke away. That’s bad luck, I’m afraid,” exclaimed the younger of the fishers, in a disappointed tone.

“And I suppose he was the biggest of the whole lot?” the other remarked with a laugh.

“There, something’s at my bait again!” ejaculated Roger, eagerly. “Don’t I hope he swallows it, hook and all!”

He braced himself for the tug, having learned what tremendous pullers these so-called buffalo fish of the rivers could be, when they had the whole force of the current back of their efforts. A few seconds later his line gave a sudden jerk.

“Hurrah! I’ve got my second one, and that makes three!” he whooped gleefully, as he started to pull in hand over hand, for they were not fishing with poles, and such things as reels were unknown among the early settlers of the West.

Half way did Roger drag his expected prize in, when he uttered a dismal cry.

“He’s gone, Dick, worse luck!” he exclaimed in a disappointed tone. “Perhaps there’s something wrong with the barb of my hook, they seem to get off so easy of late; I’d better be looking after it. Anyhow, the bait must be gone, and I never yet caught a fish with a bare hook. Hope you have better luck with yours,” as Dick started pulling his line in, with something that wriggled tremendously at the other end.

“All of which,” remarked the other boy, with a smile, “goes to show that, as Grandfather Armstrong says, it’s poor policy to count your chickens before they’re hatched; and a fish on the hook isn’t always a fish in the boat. Look what I’ve caught!”

“An eel, and a big one at that!” exclaimed Roger, looking up from examining the point of his hook, which he found to be in excellent condition after all, so that the fault, if any there was, did not lie there, but possibly in his manner of giving the wriggling fish too much slack line. “Better knock him on the head before you take him in, because a slippery customer like that will soon own the whole boat, and drive us over the side, if he gets to whipping around.”

This was good advice, as Dick well knew, and, picking up a billet of wood which they used to dispatch their fish in a humane way when caught, he finally succeeded in killing the large fresh-water eel.

But, somehow, that seemed to put an end to the fishing, for, although they tried the most tempting bait, they did not get another nibble. Even the big yellow catfish, for which the Missouri has always been famous, some of them running up to sixty pounds, declined to bite.

Dick grew anxious at the delay, and several times hinted to his cousin that it would be the part of wisdom for them to give up, even though they still lacked three fish. But it was a difficult task to drag Roger from anything he had set out to do, and he kept reminding the other that they had set a limit of five fish, and that the fish were apt to take hold again at any minute; he was sure he had felt a cautious nibble at his bait just then, and, given another chance, they could easily haul in three more, big or little, it mattered not.

Suddenly a gust of wind came sweeping across the river, and made the dugout rock violently. Looking up, the boys saw that already the breeze was whipping the surface of the Missouri into whitecaps, as the squall rushed across.

“We’ve waited too long, Roger, you see!” declared Dick, calmly; “and now we’ve got to find some sort of shelter from the storm, on this side of the river!”

CHAPTER II
THE HOLLOW TREE REFUGE

“All my fault, Dick!” said Roger, as they hastened to pull in their lines, and then get the rude anchor up, for their position was an exposed one, with that furious wind sweeping all the way from the other shore of the wide river.

“Don’t say anything about it, Roger; what we want to do now is to get to work, and use the paddles. Quick! or we’ll be blown over, with the side of our boat exposed to that rush of wind!”

They worked with all their power to get the rough dugout headed for the shore in time to have the wind behind them, for they had been fishing some distance from the wooded bank. The boat had been fashioned from a selected log by the boys themselves, and was as good a specimen of its kind as any of the settlers owned; but at the best such a craft is apt to prove clumsy at a time when quick action is required.

As a result the wind struck them before they were quite prepared, and for a moment it looked as though the frail craft would be capsized, so violently was it tossed by the gusts, as well as by the turbulent waters.

“Dip deep, Roger!” shouted Dick, compelled to raise his voice on account of the roar of the wind, which sounded as though a million bumblebees had swarmed around their heads.

They bent themselves to the task, and put all their energies into keeping the dugout from upsetting. Perhaps the wind was merciful, too, and relaxed its violence a trifle, but, be that as it may, the two lads succeeded in accomplishing the feat of turning the boat head on toward the shore, and with only a few strokes of the paddles they found themselves driven violently against the high bank, against which the waves were already breaking.

“Just below, there’s a little bight, where the boat can hold out against it, if only we can get her there!” Dick called aloud; for he had noticed all these things while fishing, perhaps with an eye to future use should necessity compel them to seek a haven of refuge.

“Together, then, Dick, fend off, and let her float down a little!” cried Roger, ready to jump overboard if necessary in order to save the boat, together with the fine catch of fish, from being turned over by the waves.

But the distance was very short, and so sturdily did the two boys labor that in the end they were able to push their craft around a high point of rock that jutted out from the shore, and find a haven just behind, in which the boat might weather the storm in safety.

But, from the appearance of the darkened sky across the river, it was evident that they might expect a heavy downpour of rain shortly; and, if they hoped to escape getting soaked, they had better go ashore without delay, and seek some sort of shelter.

“Will our fish be safe here, do you think?” asked Roger, loth to leave their prizes unguarded in the boat.

“Oh! I guess so; but come along, we can’t stay here. Pick up your gun and let’s look for a couple of hollow trees, or a fallen one that will shelter us beneath its roots. Hurry, Roger, it’ll soon be on us!”

They had quickly tied the painter of the dugout canoe and, with one last anxious look at the fish, Roger scrambled up the bank at the heels of his cousin.

The guns the boys carried were, of course, the long-barreled rifles of the times, equipped with a flint lock and powder-pan. Although such weapons may excite more or less amusement in these days of the repeating rifle, and the hammerless shotgun, still those men of the old border, with their steady hands and hawk-like vision, were capable of doing marvelous execution with them. And as boys learned how to shoot before they were as tall as the guns owned by their sires, it can be readily understood that both the Armstrong lads were splendid marksmen.

The woods along the banks of the Missouri in those days were untouched by the axe of the backwoodsman, and must have been a sight, indeed, with many of the trees three or more feet through the butt.

Here and there one of these forest monarchs had been felled by some hurricane that had swept through the region in years that were past; and it was in the direction of these that the boys cast eager glances in the hope of finding a shelter from the downpour that threatened.

Right and left they glanced, missing nothing with those keen eyes, now put to their best efforts, since a necessity for a haven had arisen, if they hoped to avoid being soaked to the skin. And, as they both were dressed in tanned buckskin garments, fashioned after the manner customary with the hunters of that early day, with fringe and colored porcupine quills adorning both trousers and tunic, the task of drying their clothes was one that would take more or less time.

It seemed but a few minutes before a shout from Roger announced a happy discovery.

“Oh! look, there’s the very place for us, if we can climb the tree and crawl in at that opening, Dick! On my word I believe that’s the biggest hollow tree I ever ran across, and I’ve seen a few. Shall we try it?”

Cautious Dick glanced once more around him; but apparently could see no other opportunity to get away from the threatening deluge.

“All right, then, we’ll have to chance it!” he replied, as he started for the big tree.

Roger did not understand what these words meant until they had come to the wide trunk of the oak and he discovered many scratches there, indicating that some wild animal must have its sleeping quarters in the hollow above.

“A bear’s den, Dick!” he ejaculated, looking at his companion doubtfully.

“Yes, I guessed as much,” answered the other, “when I saw tracks over yonder. But let’s hope the old fellow happens to be away just now. I wouldn’t take the risk did not those black clouds look so threatening.”

“Shall we climb up, then?” asked the other, ready to accept any risk, in his headstrong way.

“Yes, come on, Roger; but keep your gun ready for business,” replied Dick.

It was always a matter of some concern to the early pioneers, this keeping their rifles or muskets in condition for immediate use. The powder was apt to be shaken from the pan, or the flint in the hammer dislodged just enough to keep it from striking fairly, and sending out the important spark, which was absolutely necessary in order that the weapon be discharged. And hence, under the most intense excitement, hunters were wont to keep a watchful eye upon their guns in order that they might not fail.

Both boys scrambled up the tree. The limbs were low, and fashioned just right for a quick ascent, and, as the hole which had caught the eye of Roger was not more than twenty feet from the ground, they were beside it in an exceedingly short space of time.

But it might be noticed that neither seemed in any great haste to enter the gaping aperture that frowned so darkly before them. They could easily tell that it was a bear’s den from the odor that greeted them, such as may always be detected where wild animals have their lodging; but even stout-hearted Roger would have braved the wrath of the coming deluge rather than drop down upon a savage bear.

“Do you think he’s in, right now, Dick?” he questioned.

“I don’t know. You see there was no time to examine the tracks below, and see whether the last ones headed in, or out. But we’ll soon learn that. Fire your gun as straight down into the stump as you can, Roger; while I keep mine ready to give him a shot if he comes out.”

“A good idea, Dick; and here goes!”

Roger pushed his long rifle into the hole as well as he could, and, aiming downward, pulled the trigger. The roar that followed was terrific in that confined space, and Roger hastily dragged his gun out, preparing to reload. He had in his early years been taught the first principle among hunters, that an empty gun is worse than none at all.

Dick was waiting, ready to send a bullet into the head of Bruin, did he but make his appearance; but, as nothing followed the report of his cousin’s rifle, he bent forward to look once more into the black aperture.

“Not at home, is he, Dick; or do you think I could have been lucky enough to have killed him by a chance shot?” demanded Roger, hopefully.

“Oh! no danger of that,” replied the other, laughingly. “It’s an empty den that we’ve run across, and the sooner we crawl inside the better.”

“Yes,” said Roger, “I felt a big splash of rain on my face then. But how far down do you think the hole goes, Dick? I hope not all the way to the roots of the old tree. How could we climb up again; and what a tumble it would be if we let go and dropped.”

For answer Dick dropped a piece of heavy bark into the opening, and bent his ear in an endeavor to tell from the sound just about how far it had to fall.

“I think it’s all right, Roger,” he said; “but to make sure I’m going to tie to this branch this piece of rope that I brought with me, and lower it inside. Then we can always have something to pull ourselves up with.”

“It takes you to think up such things,” was the comment of the other boy, who greatly admired his cousin’s thoughtfulness, though seldom able to shine in that same respect himself.

Giving his gun in charge of Roger while he worked, the older lad quickly tied one end of his piece of rope to the limb alongside the opening.

“Now we can climb in, and none too soon, for there comes the rain with a whoop that sounds like an Indian attack!” he remarked.

Dick would have gone first, but it would never do for headstrong Roger to allow any one to precede him, when there was an atom of danger to face. So he swung in, and blocked the passage of the other, though with a good-natured laugh.

He had shifted his rifle to his back by means of the strap that was attached to it for that very purpose. This allowed him to have both hands free. Having dropped down so that he was hanging from the rim of the opening, Roger failed to touch the bottom with his dangling feet.

“I don’t seem to make it, Dick,” he called out; “but now I’m going to try the rope. Hurrah! here’s the bottom at last; and I judge that it’s only about eight feet or so below the opening. Coming down, now?”

“Yes, because here’s the rain pouring down; keep out of the way, Roger,” with which remark the older boy started down.

He found no difficulty in landing beside his cousin. The big tree was hollow half-way down to its roots, so that hardly more than a mere shell of the outside remained.

“Listen to it come down, Dick!” exclaimed the younger lad, presently. “Sounds as if the clouds had broken above, and meant to put the river up to the flood stage again, after it had started to go down. And the wind blows pretty hard, too. I hope, now, it doesn’t knock this old oak over, and give us heaps of trouble. Wasn’t that thunder I heard? What if lightning should strike here? Perhaps we were foolish to try so hard to escape a ducking, Dick. There may be some things worse than a wet jacket, it seems to me.”

“That’s right, Roger, and I’m glad you look at it that way; but we’re in here now, and perhaps we’d better stay, and take our chances. Such a storm will soon be over; and, when the wind goes down some, we can paddle across the Missouri without running the risk of a bad spill. We promised mother not to take too many chances, because she dreads the water, after losing her brother the way she did in the drifting ice three years ago this spring.”

The wind howled dismally around them, and the rain beat heavily against the thin shell of the tree, so that at times it creaked and groaned in a way that excited the fears of Roger anew, for he thought it might be about to give up its long fight, and yield to the storm’s fury.

But Dick kept his courage up by words of good cheer.

“Already I think the worst is over,” he returned. “It seems to me the noise does not come quite so heavily; and yes, when you look up, Roger, you can even see light at the opening, something that I couldn’t do before. We’ll have to wait here a little while, and then we can crawl out to hunt up our boat, and start for the settlement on the other shore.”

Roger naturally twisted his neck in order to see the glad sight of daylight above; but immediately gave expression to a cry.

“What is it?” asked Dick, knowing from the tone of his cousin’s exclamation that he had seen something that meant new trouble for them.

“The bear, Dick!” gasped the other boy.

“What about him?” demanded Dick; but doubtless he was able to make a pretty good guess concerning the nature of the discovery.

“He just stuck his snout into the hole as if he smelled us; and look there, will you? All the light is shut out! Dick, what shall we do? For I believe the bear is starting to back down inside the tree!”

CHAPTER III
A SHADOW OVER THE HOMESTEAD

There was no such thing as catching Dick unprepared. No doubt he had before now considered just what should be done in such an emergency.

Even while the excited Roger was speaking, Dick had acted. Of course the only thing that could be done in order to give the descending bear a fright was to fire a shot into his hindquarters at close range. No bear could stand that, Dick felt certain. The only thing that gave the boy cause for concern was that the animal might have pushed into the opening so far that, in his alarm, he would lose his grip above, and come down upon them, crushing both under his weight.

The report of Dick’s rifle sounded like a peal of thunder. There was a tremendous clawing noise above, and, for a brief interval, Dick’s heart was in his throat.

Then the clawing ceased inside the hollow tree, and, at the same time, Roger’s voice rang out.

“He’s climbed out in a bigger hurry than he came in, Dick! You gave him a pain that time. He must think hornets have built a nest in his old den, and you won’t get that smart bear coming back here in a hurry again. There, I heard him strike the ground! Perhaps you hit him harder than you meant to, Dick, and we might get him for the larder, if we wanted!”

“Not much chance of that when I had only his hindquarters to shoot into,” the other declared; “but, all the same, he’s skipped out, and taken to the woods. What’s a little rain to a furry coat like his, after sleeping all winter? But one thing is sure, Roger, the rain is slackening up.”

“Yes,” added the other, “and the wind, too; for it doesn’t howl as it did. But, let me tell you, I’m glad that thunder doesn’t growl so much now. When that loud crash came I got a bad scare, because I thought how lightning likes to pick out a big oak like this, and splinter it from top to bottom.”

“You wouldn’t have known what hurt you, if it had struck this tree; and there’s a little satisfaction in that, Roger. But, when I get my gun loaded, I mean to climb up, and take an observation.”

“How lucky that we’ve got that rope to help out,” remarked Roger; “for the inside of this old tree feels as smooth as anything, because the bear has clawed his way up and down so many times. We would have had a hard job getting up, only for that.”

“Oh! there are ways, if you only bother thinking them out,” observed the other boy. “With two of us down here, one could climb on the shoulders of the other and, after he got out, help his comrade with his hands. Oh! you’re off, are you? I wondered if you would wait, and let me go first for a change. But, now that you’re half-way up, keep right on, and tell me how things look to you. Be careful how you poke your head out, because, after all, the bear might be waiting for us.”

Roger had little difficulty in reaching the opening. He was so nimble that he could climb any tree like a monkey; but, remembering the warning of his cousin, he tried to take an observation before thrusting his head out.

“All clear, here, Dick!” he called, joyfully; “you gave him a scare, let me tell you—chances are he’s running yet. And better still, the clouds have broken across the river, for, would you believe it, the sun’s peeping out! Better come up, as the rain’s stopped now.”

That was good news for the boy in the hollow tree, and he lost no time in following his companion. Presently both were perched upon the wet limbs, looking around.

“You wounded the bear, Dick, for, see, here are blood marks on the bark,” cried Roger, pointing as he spoke.

“Which I am sorry for,” was the reply, “because I never like to hurt an animal unless I want him for food. And we couldn’t think of trying to follow the trail of the bear at this late hour. Mother might be worried if we didn’t come home by dark, after such a sudden storm. So let’s head back to the boat, and, if the waves have gone down enough, we’ll push out for the other bank.”

“Whew! did you ever see such big bear tracks, Dick?” exclaimed Roger, as he bent down to examine the imprints. “The chances are, now, we’ll never set eyes on anything to beat that in all our lives again;” but, when the boy made that statement, and believed what he was saying, too, he could not possibly foresee the time when he and his cousin would look upon the distant Rocky Mountains, just then almost unknown to white men, and view that greatest of all bears, the terrible grizzly of the foothills. Yet that experience was before them, and nearer than any one could dream.

“Come on, we had better be in a hurry, Roger,” the other called out; “because already it is getting pretty close to sunset, and with so many clouds overhead, darkness is apt to come along soon afterwards. And you know it isn’t safe upon the big river after night sets in.”

They were quickly at the little cove where the dugout had been left, and, much to their satisfaction, they found everything all right.

“I’m glad that bear didn’t get a scent of our fish while he was hurrying home,” Dick remarked.

“That’s so,” the other boy added, “because we happen to know how hungry they are for fish, lots of times. Didn’t we see one scoop a fish out with his paw, once, as he squatted on a log that ran down into the water? But are we going to risk it out there on the river just yet, Dick?”

“It looks pretty rough, I declare; but the waves are going down every minute, so we had better wait a while. Given half an hour, and we ought to be able to cross. The longer we can hold off, the easier our passage will be.”

“I suppose it’s no use throwing out a line again?” mused Roger, whose passion for fishing could never be wholly satisfied.

“Not after such a heavy rain, and with the river rising as it is, Roger. You know enough about fish to remember that they never bite after a rain that washes all sorts of feed into the river, and muddies the water so. Here, we can sit down on this rock, and talk a little.”

“Yes, and Dick, I know that you have something on your mind that’s been worrying you all day. More than once I’ve come near asking what ailed you, and then I held my tongue for fear I might offend. And at our house I notice that father and mother seem worried, too, for they often stop talking when I come in, and look confused, as if they didn’t want me to know what was wrong. Now, if you know, tell me. We’re pretty well grown, and ought to take some of the burdens on our shoulders, it seems to me.”

“Well spoken, Roger, and shake hands with me on that!” exclaimed the older lad, while his sober face lighted up with a mingling of regard for his cousin, and delight over hearing these words spring from his heart. “Yes, you are right, we are old enough to be taken into the councils of our parents; and my father has thought the same, for he told me the nature of the gloom that seems to be hanging over the whole little Armstrong settlement of late.”

“And will you tell me, Dick?” demanded the other, eagerly, while a look akin to resolution flashed over his handsome face. Roger was his father in his younger years over again; a real “chip of the old block,” gentle-hearted, brave, and with only the fault of recklessness to mar his good record.

Sandy Armstrong in early life had taken as his model that sterling young borderer known in the history of the “dark and bloody ground,” Kentucky, as Daniel Boone’s most beloved helper, Simon Kenton; and, as their natures were very much alike, the reason for his admiration had always been very evident.

“Yes,” Dick went on to say, bravely, “because my father said he thought both of us should know; not that he had any idea we could do anything to help; but, if the blow fell, we might be better prepared to stand it.”

“Blow fell!” repeated the other, in sheer astonishment, while his ruddy face lost a little of its color; “why, what can you mean, Dick? Are the Indians going on the warpath; or has that precious wampum belt been lost again, as father told me once happened when he was a boy?”[4]

“No, it is nothing like that, Roger,” replied the other. “It concerns the title to the property our parents bought years ago, and which has been our home all of our lives, up to now.”

“Why, you surprise me, Dick! They bought it, I have heard, from the French traders who owned the section across the river, the pick of the land above the St. Louis settlement.”

“Yes, that is a fact, Roger; but it seems that there is some sort of defect in the title, and an old French trader, François Lascelles by name, with his grown son, Alexis, has threatened to turn us out of our homes by the first of next year, unless we make a new settlement with him, and purchase the ground for a second time. It seems, however, that there is just one way by which the land may be saved.”

“Oh! I am glad to hear that; and if there is anything that I can do, only tell me, and see how quickly I will do it. But it would nearly kill my mother to lose the farm now, because she loves the place so much. Now, tell me what that one thing is.”

“Listen. It seems that there is a man whose signature to certain papers is necessary in order to keep this rascal of a Frenchman from seizing the property by the first of next year. His name is Jasper Williams, and he is a hunter and scout very much like Daniel Boone, the friend of our parents. Both your father and mine have been to great trouble trying to locate this man, and, Roger, think of the bitter disappointment that overwhelmed them upon discovering a few days ago that he is far away in the unknown West, but expects to join the Lewis and Clark exploration party that started out many weeks ago, bound to cross prairies and mountains, and rivers and lakes if necessary, until they finally set eyes on the Pacific Ocean, which we know lies hundreds, perhaps thousands, of miles away from the Mississippi.”

Roger shook his head, as if overwhelmed with sadness.

“Why, they may not be back again for two years, even if they escape the thousand and one perils they must encounter from wild beasts, hostile Sioux and Blackfeet Indians, snow pitfalls in the mountains, starvation on the deserts, and all sorts of other things. Oh! Dick, what a cruel thing this is. And it could all be changed, you say, if only that one man’s signature might be obtained to a certain paper?”

“Yes, so father tells me. And, Roger, do you know what I have been thinking of all this day, while we sat, and fished, and watched the coming of the storm?”

His impulsive cousin glanced up at him quickly, an eager glow in his eyes and a set look on his young face.

“Dick, were you thinking that we might start out, and try to overtake that expedition which President Jefferson has sent to see what our new territory between the river and the ocean is like? ([Note 2].) Tell me, would such an idea ever enter the head of so cautious a fellow as Dick Armstrong when it might seem to be only fit for a madcap like myself?”

“Ah! yes! but, Roger, think what the signing of that paper would mean to all those we love! Remember that, unless something is done, we may lose our homes before another spring, and our parents must start all over again. And, if you stop and think, did not our fathers once make almost as dangerous a journey into the unknown country of the Iroquois Indians, at the time our Aunt Kate, their sister, was stolen by a young chief?”

“Yes, yes, every word you say is true, Dick; but the daring of it all staggers me. Do not think for a second that I will hold back, if only we can gain the consent of our parents to making the trial. Think of starting out into that wonderful unknown wilderness, where white men have never until now placed a foot, following in the track of Captain Lewis and Captain Clark, with their little band of soldiers and scouts, not more than forty souls, all told. Oh! let us get back across the river right away, Dick, because I want to beg my father to let me go; and get grandfather to back us up, for he says we are chips of the old blocks, and able to hold our own anywhere.”

“Well, the wind has fallen enough, I think, for us to make the trial; so jump into the dugout, and we’ll paddle for the other shore, Roger.”

CHAPTER IV
THE CABIN OF BOB ARMSTRONG

There was still danger in crossing the broad river in so small a boat as the clumsy dugout; so that the two lads had to be constantly on their guard against being caught broadside on, when the waves and wind united to beat against their craft.

Fortunately their voyage was almost in the teeth of the elements, and they were not compelled to expose the side of the boat.

Dick always sat in the stern, as he was considered the captain and pilot, being better able to judge of what was proper to do in emergencies than Roger, since there was always a chance of the latter becoming confused, as he himself very frankly admitted.

On this occasion Roger was wild with impatience to get home. What his cousin had just told him had excited him more than anything he had ever heard; and the wonderful prospect that opened to them, if they could obtain the consent of their parents to follow after the President’s expedition in search of the distant Pacific, known only to Balboa’s party long, long before, thrilled him.

“ONCE EVEN DICK’S BEST WORK COULD NOT PREVENT THE DUGOUT FROM TURNING PARTLY, SO AS TO EXPOSE A SIDE TO THE WIND.”

No doubt it affected his paddling to some extent, for Dick noticed that he dipped deeper, and made more vigorous strokes, than he could ever remember Roger doing. In fact, he was put to his best efforts to counteract the “swing” that these furious efforts on the part of the head paddler gave the boat.

Once even Dick’s best work could not prevent the dugout from turning partly, so as to expose a side to the wind, and they came very near capsizing.

“Careful, Roger! Not so much ginger in your stroke! We’ll get there in good time, if only you keep up a steady gait. There are no Indians after us, and the supper horn has not blown yet, that I have heard!” Thus Dick chided his impetuous cousin.

After that the other lad, as though himself realizing the folly of allowing his excitement to have such sway over his actions, managed to moderate his speed and they had no more trouble.

Besides, the nearer the boat drew to land, the more shelter they obtained from the fact that the shore was covered with trees, which broke the force of the wind, so that presently they were in comparatively calm waters.

They ran their boat upon a shelving beach, where it was usually kept when the stage of water permitted. The painter was secured to a stake that had been driven into the ground, after which the two boys climbed the bank, and headed for home.

“After you’ve had a talk with your parents, when supper is done, get them to come over to grandfather’s cabin for a grand powwow,” said Dick, as he and Roger were about to separate.

“That’s a good idea,” replied the other; “and, if ever I wished for anything in all my life, it’s that they may say ‘yes.’ I’ll never be happy unless they do, because it would be a glorious thing if we could find that man, Jasper Williams, and get his signature to the paper that will save our homes.”

Dick was a boy of few words. He seldom gave expression to his feelings after the more boisterous manner of his cousin, but the hearty grip which he gave Roger’s hand at parting was more expressive than words, and the other boy knew that his own sentiments were echoed in the heart of his companion.

There were three log cabins not far from each other in the clearing. The middle one of these belonged to Grandfather David Armstrong, the original settler of the place, while, on either side, his two sons, at the time of their marriages, had built homes of a similar type.

They had secured a grant of land that embraced many rich acres, and which, when the settlement of St. Louis grew in size, would become more and more valuable. Knowing this fact, then, it can be seen how the prospect of having their land taken away by a defect in the title affected the Armstrongs, young and old.

Dick strode straight to his own cabin home. He was carrying with him as many of the fish as he could well manage, and expected to send his younger brother, Sam, back to the boat to get the balance of what they had caught.

The night was just settling down, though it would not be dark for some time yet, as the long days had come in with the month of June, which was now not far from its close.

In the west the glow of the sunset still lingered and once again did Dick Armstrong stop for a brief interval to stare at the touches of gold and crimson that flecked the heavens. No doubt the lad was vaguely wondering whether he and his cousin would be allowed to start forth to pierce that unknown wilderness lying under that mysterious sky; and, if so, what wonderful sights might they not set eyes on during the weeks and months of their absence, while trying to find Jasper Williams!

Some such strange thoughts must have been passing through his mind, for he gave vent to a long-drawn sigh as he once more started for the cabin, from the small windows of which shone a cheery light.

Even as he drew near, the door opened, and the form of a woman was outlined as she stood there, evidently looking out into the gloaming. It was Dick’s mother, anxious, as any good mother would be, concerning her boy, who might have been upon the wild and riotous Missouri at the time that summer squall first broke.

“Is that you, Dick?” she called out eagerly, seeing a figure approaching.

“Yes, mother,” came the reply; “we had to wait till the waves went down some, before trying to cross; because, you see, the old dugout is a clumsy thing in a heavy sea. But we came over without shipping much water, and with plenty of fish. I’ll leave them in the shed here, and wash up before I come in.”

But, before doing so, Dick, who knew how anxious his mother must have been during the gale, went up and kissed her.

A short time later he entered the house. The interior of the cabin was like all of its kind. To the boys of the present generation it would doubtless have seemed a very poor makeshift for a home, since so many of the comforts to which they are accustomed were lacking; but in the eyes of Dick Armstrong it meant everything; and with father, mother, and his brother, Sam, present, he could wish for nothing more.

The fire burned brightly on the wide hearth, where the simple supper was cooking. From the heavy rafters overhead hung strings of herbs, and onions, and such things as the good housewife of those days deemed necessary for the welfare of her household. There was also a ham, home-cured; and some strips of dried venison, buffalo meat and even portions of a young bear that Dick had shot during the preceding fall.

White dimity curtains at the windows gave the room a homelike air. The younger boy was oiling several traps that he meant to store away until, with the coming of the crisp frosty air, the next season for taking pelts would have arrived. The father, who has been known in earlier stories concerning this pioneer family as Bob Armstrong, was engaged in reading a newspaper from the Far East that had come to old David, and was such a rarity that it was passed from hand to hand, until decrepit from age and much handling.

Bob had developed into a sturdy man. As has been stated before, he had married the daughter of another settler, whose home was in St. Louis; and made both a good husband and a kind father. Being industrious, he was by degrees developing the farm that had come to him as his share of the grant secured by David Armstrong from the French company owning a greater part of the land around the new settlement. Even now they were getting good crops, and had a barn in which these could be stored.

Taken all in all, this Armstrong settlement was the most thrifty within fifty miles; and people who saw the fields of grain, as well as the animals raised upon the several farms, said that David and his two sons deserved great credit for their persistent energy.

Evidently supper had been waiting on account of the absence of the older boy, for Mrs. Armstrong immediately began serving it, piping hot. If there was not a great variety on the board, at least one could not complain on account of the quantity.

Bob was impatient to hear an account of the fishing excursion, and while the meal went on Dick entertained them all with the story of how he and his cousin happened on the den of the bear in the big hollow oak and, seeking refuge from the storm there, had been surprised by the return of the owner, with the result that they were compelled to treat Mr. Bear rather meanly in order to induce him not to crowd in on them.

Young Sam laughed heartily as he heard the particulars; and even Bob seemed to be vastly amused. No doubt it brought many a similar scene back to his mind, connected with those days in the past when two other boys, himself and his brother Sandy, roamed the woods and valleys in search of game, and met with many surprising adventures by field and flood.

Dick purposely refrained from saying a word concerning the bold scheme which he and Roger had conceived, until after the meal was over.

Mrs. Armstrong was washing up the dishes, and Sam still busily engaged with his traps, with which he and Dick had done good work during the previous winter, when, unable to hold in any longer, Dick sprung his surprise.

“Father, there’s something I want to talk with you about,” he began; and Bob, realizing from the sober tone in which his son spoke that it could be no trifling matter, laid down the paper, and looked at the boy’s flushed face.

“Well, what is it, Dick?” he asked, uneasily; while the mother stopped her work to glance up, and even Sam laid his trap down on the floor, and listened.

“While we were sitting there on the shore, waiting for the wind to quiet down a bit, so we could take chances and cross over, Roger and I got to talking. I told him all you said to me about the shadow that has fallen on our homes here, and, father, Roger, in his impetuous way, declared that we ought to follow up the Lewis and Clark company, to find that man, Jasper Williams, and get his signature to the paper that will save our land from being taken away. And, father, as I heard Roger say that, something in me seemed to rise up and declare that such was our duty. I promised him to get you to go over to Grandfather Armstrong’s cabin after supper, where we could have a council of war, and see if something could not be done to let us two go on this mission!”

When Dick stopped speaking a silence fell upon them all. Father and mother exchanged quick glances, and there were tears in their eyes.

CHAPTER V
A GRAND PALAVER

“Oh! Dick, my boy, we could not let you go from us in that way!”

Of course Dick had expected that his mother would say something like this; but he looked more to his father for the consent that would mean so much. The very thought was staggering to those loving hearts; but in those days boys of fifteen and sixteen were so accustomed to thinking and doing for themselves that they were fully trusted by their elders. And, besides, mothers had been brought up in the hard school of experience, thus learning early in life to look upon danger as an ever-present thing.

If his father could be brought to see the desperate undertaking in the right light, Dick knew that the victory was as good as won; for the former would be able to convince the good wife and mother that it was, after all, a reasonable conclusion, as well as the sole hope of saving their imperiled homes.

Bob Armstrong shook his head, even while his eyes grew dim as they rested on Dick’s eager face.

“God knows, your mother and I understand and appreciate the motive that prompts you to say that, my boy,” he said; “but we could not accept the sacrifice that it would mean. If there is no other way to save our farms, then they must go, and we will have to take up some new land, and start in afresh.”

“But, father, why should you feel that way?” the lad went on to say. “Can you not trust me in the woods? Have I ever failed to take every precaution, and up to now has anything serious ever happened to me?”

“No, it is not that, son,” replied Bob; “a man could not wish to have a better boy than you have always been, and I wager you know more woodcraft right now than either your Uncle Sandy or myself had in our heads at your age. But it would not be right for us to stay comfortably at home here, while our sons were meeting with all manner of perils off in that unknown country.”

Dick smiled on hearing that. He believed that, if there was no stronger argument against the venture, his case was already as good as won. And, having thought it all out, he now proceeded to knock away the props from under the structure founded by his father.

“Please look back, father, to your own boyhood days,” he said, soberly. “How many times have you sat there, and told us of how you and Uncle Sandy started out by yourselves on the trail of that young Iroquois chief who carried Aunt Kate away. Yes, you followed him clear to the Great Lakes, to the country that was teeming with enemies. And, in spite of every peril, you and my uncle, with only the help of that old trapper Pat O’Mara, since gone to the Happy Hunting Grounds, and the friendly Indian, Blue Jacket, did rescue Aunt Kate, and even saved the life of Pontiac, who afterwards gave you the magic wampum belt that has kept us from harm all these years. Father, what I am saying is all true, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, every word of it, my son; but, then, the conditions were different at that time,” replied the other, hastily. “Our sister had been carried off, my father was far away on the road to Virginia on important business, and there was no one else to go in search of Kate, so brother Sandy and myself had to start out.”

“Ah! yes, but you went willingly, eagerly, I know, father, just as we feel like doing now,” the boy went on.

“But the life and happiness of our only sister was at stake, Dick,” the father said, and yet in a half hesitating way, as though the argument of the boy was already beginning to have its effect.

“Well, the future happiness of three families is at stake now, father. And if in those days you and Uncle Sandy could face the perils of the wilderness, and win out, why should not Roger and I do the same now? All we would have to do would be to follow up the course of the river, week after week, until we caught the expedition; and then keep on with them until Jasper Williams joined them, as he expects to do by the time they reach the Mandan country. After that, having secured his signature to the paper, we could bring it back to you. Why, what could be easier than that? And think of all it means to us, father!”

“Yes, yes, I understand, Dick, and Heaven knows I feel like giving my consent. But it is no light matter, to be settled off-hand in a minute. I have your mother’s feelings to consider. She would be loath to see you leave us, and plunge into that unknown country that lies toward the setting sun.”

“But, father, I have heard you say many times that you often had a longing yourself to go there, and if you were not the head of a family the temptation might have been more than you could stand. Yes, and Uncle Sandy echoed your words, and looked forlorn for a whole day, as though he had to light with the desire to once more become a pioneer, and explore new countries.”

Bob Armstrong smiled, and glanced toward his wife, who shook her head, not trusting herself to speech. But Dick felt encouraged, and believed he had made great progress toward gaining the consent of both parents.

There remained one trump card to play—Grandfather Armstrong, who always sympathized with his grandsons in their ambitions, and who would be apt to look back to those days when he, as a father, trusted his own sons in every undertaking that could happen in the lives of young pioneers along the Ohio and the Mississippi.

“By now, Uncle Sandy and Roger must be over at Grandfather Armstrong’s cabin; and I promised that we would meet them there for a talk. You will not object to hearing what he has to say, father, I hope?” Dick went on.

“I can see what the result will be if Grandfather takes a hand in it,” remarked Bob, with a shrug of his shoulders; “but then, it seems to be a case of ‘old men for council; young men for war,’ and we surely ought to listen to what he has to say of the project, after he has heard both sides.”

The younger boy, Sam, who had been listening to all this amazing talk with eagerness, now broke in with:

“But I can shoot a rifle as well as Dick, and know lots about trailing, and all those things Pat O’Mara used to teach me before he died; why must I stay at home if Dick goes, father?”

“That would never do!” declared Dick, immediately. “Mother could not stand the absence of both her boys at the same time. Who would do the hunting and fishing then, while father worked the farm? Where would the meat come from, Sam? No; if I go, you must take my place, and show what you can do. Besides, while you are strong for your years, a boy of twelve could hardly expect to keep up with those who are so much older. Oh! no, it would not do at all.”

Sam was inclined to protest, but he saw his mother’s grieved face; and something there seemed to give his heart a wrench. Perhaps it was the thought of being separated from her by hundreds of miles of wilderness, never, perhaps, to see her again in this life; for, after all, Sam was only a very young boy, and he had not been tried so severely as his father and uncle in their early days.

“Oh, well, I suppose I’ll have to stay home, and take your place, Dick; but some fine day I mean to see that Golden West for myself, remember that,” he said, and, somehow, his taking it for granted that the parents’ consent was sure to be given to his brother’s daring project did more to hasten the decision than anything that had as yet occurred.

“Come,” remarked Bob, “let us all go to Grandfather Armstrong’s, and talk it over. I want to see what Sandy thinks, before I make up my mind;” but Dick knew from his father’s manner that already he had been partly won over.

So they all trooped out, and were soon entering the central cabin.

David Armstrong was now getting quite old. Thirty years had passed since he came down the Ohio on a flatboat, seeking a new home in the wilderness; and his hair was as white as the snows that came with each succeeding winter. He was not able to do much manual labor himself, but hired help to look after his extensive holdings, that already had increased ten times in value, and would be worth a fortune later on, if they could only manage to retain possession of them.