to keep travelling by river until we join 'em. If they're behind, they'll discover our tracks, like as not, and send ahead for us."
"Anyhow, we're into open goin'. I'm blamed glad o' that," declared Freegift. "Hooray for the plains, and Natchitoches!"
"Hooray if you like," Terry answered back, puffing. "But 'tisn't any turnpike, you can bet."
Apparently out of the mountains they were; nevertheless still hard put, for the river wound and wound, treacherous with boulders and air-holes, and the snow-covered banks were heavy with willows and brush and long grass.
After about four miles Terry, in the lead, shouted unpleasant news.
"We might as well quit. We're running plumb into another set o' mountains. I can see where the river enters. This is only a pocket."
Freegift and Stub arrived, and gazed. The mountains closed in again, before; had crossed the trail, and were lined up, waiting. Jagged and gleeming in the low western sunlight, they barred the way.
"There's no end to 'em," said Terry, ruefully. "Heigh-hum. 'Pears like the real prairies are a long stint yet. The cap'n will be sore disappointed, if he sees. I don't think he's struck here, though. Anyhow, we'll have to camp—I'm clean tuckered; and
