dangers and hardship of their great voyage from New Orleans.

They carried in horn and pouch ample supplies of powder and
bullet, and they did not fear any task.

Their journey continued through hilly country, clothed in heavy
forest, but often without undergrowth. They avoided the open
spaces, preferring to be seen of men, who were sure to be red
men, as little as possible. Their caution was well taken. They
saw Indian signs, once a feather that had fallen from a scalp
lock, once footprints, and once the bone of a deer recently
thrown away by him who had eaten the meat from it. The country
seemed to be as wild as that of Kentucky. Small settlements, so
they had heard, were scattered at great distances through the
forest, but they saw none. There was no cabin smoke, no trail of
the plow, just the woods and the hills and the clear streams.
Buffalo had never reached this region, but deer were abundant,
and they risked a shot to replenish their supplies.

They camped the second night of their march on a little peninsula
at the confluence of two creeks, with the deep woods everywhere.
Henry judged that they were well within the western range of the
Six Nations, and they cooked their deer meat over a smothered
fire, nothing more than a few coals among the leaves. When
supper was over they arranged soft places for themselves and
their blankets, all except Long Jim, whose turn it was to scout
among the woods for a possible foe.

"Don't be gone long, Jim," said Henry as he composed himself in a
comfortable position. "A circle of a half mile about us will