"We might as well be chasing a mountain as a river," said Terry Miller.
"Oui," agreed Baroney. "Ma foi, the mountains are there, in sight; but the river—it's nowhere."
"Never mind, never mind, lads," Sergeant Meek put in. "Not a man of us works as hard as him and the doctor; they're always breaking the trail, and they're always out whilst we're resting a bit. Look at 'em now, scouting in the snow without a bite to eat. Sure, we ought to be proud to keep a stiff upper lip and follow 'em as fur as they'll go, whether that's to Canady or Mexico or the Pacific Ocean. Ain't we soldiers?"
"We'll follow. You bet we will," the men chorused. "There's no harm meant in our talk, but we got to talk about somethin' besides our feet an' our bellies."
Now here came the lieutenant and the doctor—trudging fast, panting, snowy, their beards plastered white, but their thin faces lighted with smiles. The doctor gleefully flourished his fur cap, and hailed them.
"The Red River, men! Three cheers! We think we've found it at last!"
"Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!" The steep sides of the narrow pass echoed, and the miserable horses half pricked their ears, dumbly questioning.
