nyhow."

"Gass said they did," nodded John. "They got a lot of fine catfish, and
I think Patrick Gass must have liked them, way he talks. He says, 'We
are generally well supplied with catfish, the best I have ever seen.'"

"What kind of a grub list did they have?" inquired Jesse; and John was
able to answer, for he found the page in the _Journal_, which was close
at hand on a box top, so it could be consulted at any time.

"They didn't have any marmalade or preserves, or fruit or acid of any
kind, and they must have relied on the hunt. They had four bags of
'parchmeal,' which I suppose was parched corn ground--the old frontier
ration, you know. That was about twenty-eight bushels in all, with some
eighteen bushels of 'common' and twenty-two bushels of hominy. Then they
had thirty half barrels of flour, and a dozen barrels of biscuit, a
barrel of meal, fifty bushels of meal, twenty-four bushels of Natchez
hulled corn, four barrels of other hulled corn, and one of meal. That
was their cereal list.

"They only had one bag of coffee, and one each of 'Beens & pees,' as
Clark spells them, and only two bags of sugar, though eight hundred and
seventy pounds of salt."

"Not much sweets," grumbled Jesse. "How about the grease list?" Jesse
was rather wise about making up a good, well-balanced grub list for a
camping trip.

"Well," answered John, "they had forty-five hundred pounds of pork, a
keg of lard, and six hundred pounds of 'grees,' as he calls it. Not so
much; and they ran out of salt in a year, and out of flour, too, so they
didn't have any bread for months. They had some stuff spoiled by getting
wet.

"They had some trade stuff for the Indians, and tools of all sorts, and
other weapons and ammunition. They had sun glasses and an air gun and
instruments for latitude and longitude. They were travelers, all right."

"Lay her a half north, fifty-seven degrees west, and full steam ahead!"
sang out Uncle Dick. "Cut this big bend and take the wind on the
larboard quarter, Jesse. I'll promise you, if our gas holds out, we'll
get somewhere before dark. The _Adventurer, of America_ is a mile eater,
believe me!"

CHAPTER VI

THE LOG OF THE "ADVENTURER"

"One thing sure," said Rob, after a long silence, toward the close of
the afternoon, "this isn't any wilderness now. Look at the fields and
settlements we've passed. There's a town every ten miles."

"Well, I don't think it was all wild, even when Lewis and Cla