River heads with the St. Peter's (Minnesota) River, passing
the head of the Des Moines; all of which is true. And it tells of the
Red Pipestone quarry, on a creek coming into the Sioux. Clark puts down
all those things and does not forget the local stuff. He says the
'Countrey above the Platte has a great Similarity'--which means the
Plains as they saw them. And look, in John's book--here he says 'I found
a verry excellent froot resembling the read Current,' What was it--the
Sarvice berry? He says it is 'about the Common hight of a wild Plumb.'
Nothing escaped these chaps--geography, natural history, game, Indians,
or anything else! They must have worked every minute of the day."

"I think his new berry was what we used to call the buffalo berry, in
our railway surveys out West," said Uncle Dick. "It was bigger than a
currant and made very fair pies.

"But now we've just begun to catch up with our story, for we were
talking some time back where they first got a buffalo. That was about
thirty or forty miles above here. By to-morrow night we'll camp in our
fifth state since we left home--Missouri, Kansas, Nebraska, Iowa, South
Dakota."

"On our way!" sung out Rob. "We haven't got any antelope yet, nor found
a prairie dog, nor seen a single Sioux."

"Softly, softly!" smiled the older companion. "At least we're in the
Sioux and antelope range."

Their little tent was pitched within a short distance of the river, and
their fire made shadows along the wall of willows. At times they all
fell silent, bringing to mind the wild scenes of this same country in a
time which now began to seem not so long ago.

"My!" said Jesse, after a time, as he sat on his bed roll, his hands
clasped before his knees. "Think of it! The Plains, the buffalo, the
Indians! Weren't they the lucky guys!"

"Well, yes," replied his uncle, "though I'd rather call them fortunate
gentlemen than lucky guys. One thing sure, they were accurate when they
said the 'musquitors were verry troublesom' in all this Missouri Valley.
They had to issue nets and bars to the men, so it says, and the
misquitr, or mosquiter, or musquitor, was about the only 'anamal' they
feared. If we don't turn in, they'll carry us off to-night."

CHAPTER XII

THE LOST HUNTER

"It's a long, long way up to the Mandans!" sang John at the second camp
above the Council Bluffs. "Wonder if we ever will get there before
winter! Here we are, just below the Vermilion, over nine hu