were where
their hats were--and they hadn't any hats."

For some days now they threaded their way among the countless islands
and sand bars of the great river, until at last they made camp early on
the evening of June 9th, near the point which, as closely as they could
figure it, was about where the Lewis and Clark bateau lay at the time
George Shannon was found wandering on the Plains, alone and ready to
despair. This was about thirty miles below the mouth of the White River.

"Well, we've got him," said Jesse, solemnly, "and told him never to
leave camp without matches and ammunition and an ax. And that's that!"

"Time for another catfish, Jesse," said their leader. "John, you take
the .22 and wander along the edge of the bluff. You might see a young
jack rabbit. I don't believe I'd bother the ducks, for that's against
the law and we don't break laws even when we are not watched. Rob, you
and I will make camp--we'll not need anything but the mosquito bars."

Inside the hour a shout from Jesse informed them that he had another
catfish on his throw line, and soon he had it flopping on the sand. He
killed it stone dead by thrusting a stiff straw back into the brain
through the "little hole in its face," as he called the sinus which
leads into the head cavity.

"I throw out my line," said he, "with a piece of meat or minnow on the
hook. Then I stick a stick down in the bank, two or three feet long, and
take a half hitch around the top. It acts as a sort of rod and gives
when the fish bites. He pulls down and swallows the bait, and the spring
of the stick holds him safer than a straight pull would. To skin him, I
cut around back of his front side fins and take hold of the skin with my
pliers--just slit the hide a little down the sides, and it comes off.
These channel cats aren't bad to eat."

John joined them before dark, with two half-grown jack rabbits which he
had found on the bluffs below. He spoke of the fine view and of the
splendid sunset he had seen. Rob was examining the rabbits, each of
which had been shot squarely through the eye. "Dead-shot John, the old
trapper!" said he. "That's the way!"

"You didn't think I'd shoot 'em anywhere but through the head, did you?"
John inquired. "No sir, not yet!"

So, with meat in camp, they sat down, still in "verry good sperits," as
John quoted from the _Journal_.

Now day after day, hurrying hard as they could, they still drove on
northward, along the great bends