Читать книгу Trail and Trading Post; or, The Young Hunters of the Ohio онлайн

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In the morning the mist and the rain cleared away. The day, however, was still gloomy, and although Dave climbed one of the tall trees at hand, he could see little or nothing by which to locate himself.

“I think the fort is in that direction,” he said, pointing with his hand. “But I am by no means sure.”

“Well, we may as well journey in that direction as any other,” was Henry’s reply. “I think you are right. The canoe is not fit for use, so we cannot go down the river, and may as well throw the paddles away or burn them up.”

At early dawn Dave had discovered a squirrel on a branch near by, and laid the game low with an arrow. This had made him do a little hunting with the bow, and he had ended by obtaining four squirrels. These, broiled over the fire, gave them a good breakfast, washed down as it was by a drink from the river. They looked up the watercourse as far as they could, but saw no signs of the Indians.

They were soon on the tramp. Knowing that Henry’s ankle must still pain him, Dave let his cousin set the pace. This was somewhat slow for the frontier youths, but would have proved stiff walking for anybody not used to it. The route was comparatively easy to travel, and by high noon, when they sat down to rest, they calculated that they had covered at least eight miles.