THE PIONEER BOYS OF THE COLUMBIA

By HARRISON ADAMS Author of “The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio,” “The Pioneer Boys of the Missouri,” “The Pioneer Boys of the Yellowstone,” etc.

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Copyright, 1916, by The Page Company ————— All rights reserved ————— First Impression, May, 1916

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PREFACE

Dear Boys:—

The time has at last arrived when we must say good-bye to our pioneer friends, the Armstrongs. You will remember how we have followed their adventurous careers down the Ohio, along the Mississippi, then up the great Missouri to the wonder country of the Yellowstone; and now, between the covers of the present volume, are narrated the concluding incidents in the story of “Westward Ho!”

Our country is deeply indebted to the class of pioneers typified by the Armstrong boys. Restless spirits many of them were, always yearning for richer lands where game would be more plentiful. It was undoubtedly this desire that led them further and further into the “Country of the Setting Sun,” constantly seeking that which many of them never found; until at length the Pacific barred their further progress.

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Bob and Sandy Armstrong, together with their sturdy sons, Dick and Roger, are but types of the settlers who opened up the rich territory of the Mississippi Valley, as well as the Great West. Their kind is not so numerous now, at least in our own country, since the need for such adventurous souls has become less acute. In many places, however, like the Canadian Northwest, they can still be met with, forging the links that will bind the wilderness to civilization.

If you boys have found one half the enjoyment in reading of the exploits of our young pioneers that the task has afforded the author in writing of them, his aim, which has been to instruct as well as to entertain, will have been accomplished.

Harrison Adams.

May 1, 1916.

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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

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[1]

CHAPTER I THE LURE OF THE SETTING SUN

“It strikes me, Dick, the rapids are noisier to-day than ever before.”

“We have time enough yet, Roger, to paddle ashore, and give up our plan of running them.”

“But that would be too much like showing the white feather, Cousin; and you must know that we Armstrongs never like to do that.”

“Then we are to try our luck in the midst of the snarling, white-capped water-wolves, are we, Roger?”

“I say, ‘yes.’ We started to make the run, and a little extra noise isn’t going to frighten us off. Besides, we may not have another chance to try it.”

“You’re right there, Roger, for I heard Captain[2] Lewis say we’d have to start up the river again in a few days, heading into the great West, the Land of the Setting Sun.”

“I am ready, Dick. My paddle can be depended on to see us through. We’ll soon be at the head of the rapids, too.”

“Already the canoe feels the pull, and races to meet it. Steady now, Roger, and let us remember what the Indians told us about the only safe passage through the Big Trouble Water, as they call it. A little more to the left—now straight ahead, and both together!”

The two sturdy, well-grown lads who crouched in the frail Indian craft, made of tanned buffalo skins, need no introduction to those who have read any of the preceding volumes of this series.

There may be those, however, who, in these pages, are making the acquaintance of Dick and Roger, the young pioneers, for the first time; and for their benefit a little explanation may be necessary.

While the pair are shooting downward, on the rapidly increasing current of the Yellowstone River, toward the roaring rapids, on this spring day in the year 1805, let us take a brief look backward. Who were these daring lads of the old frontier days, and how came they so far[3] from the westernmost settlements of the English-speaking race along the Mississippi, and about the mouth of the Missouri?

Dick Armstrong and his cousin, Roger, were the sons of two brothers whose adventures along the Ohio in the days of Daniel Boone occupied our attention in the earlier stories of border life. They were worthy of their fathers, for Dick had inherited the thoughtful character of Bob Armstrong, while Roger at times displayed the same bold disposition that had always marked Sandy, his parent, in the perilous days when they founded their homes in the then untrodden wilderness.

The families were now located at that spot which had first been taken up by the French, and called St. Louis in honor of the King of France. Their grandfather, David Armstrong, still lived, as did also his wife, hale and hearty, enjoying the increasing households of their children.

Bob and Sandy had both married, and besides Dick there was a smaller son, named Sam in the cabin of the former. Roger had a little sister, called Mary, in honor of her grandmother.

The two cousins had grown up, as did most lads of those early days, accustomed to think for themselves, and to meet danger bravely.[4] Both of them were accomplished in all the arts known to successful woodsmen. They learned from experience, as well as from the lips of old borderers who visited in their homes, and were able to hold their own with any boys of their age in the community.

A sudden calamity threatened to disturb the peace of the Armstrong circle, when it was learned that there was a flaw in the deed by which their property was held. An important signature was required in order to perfect this title, and, unless this could be obtained, and shown by the succeeding spring, everything would pass into the possession of a rich and unscrupulous French Indian trader, François Lascelles by name.

Inquiry developed the fact that Jasper Williams, the man whose signature was so important to the happiness of all the Armstrongs, had gone with the expedition undertaken by Captain Lewis and Captain Clark, which was headed into the unknown country of the Setting Sun, with the hope of finding a way to the far distant Pacific Ocean.

No white man had as yet crossed the vast stretches of country that lay west of the rolling Mississippi, and it was the boldest undertaking[5] ever known when President Jefferson influenced Congress to stand back of his proposition to learn the extent of the possessions that had recently come to the United States. (Note 1.)[1]

The President’s private secretary, Captain Lewis, headed the small party of adventurous spirits, assisted by an army officer, Captain Clark. They left St. Louis in the spring of 1804, and had been long on the way when the Armstrongs discovered that the one man whom they could depend on to save their homes was with the expedition.

Ordinarily Bob and Sandy Armstrong would have been quick to take upon themselves the duty of overtaking the expedition, and securing the necessary signature; but a recent injury prevented one of the brothers from going.

In the end the proposition of Dick and Roger to undertake the stupendous task was agreed to, and the boys started, mounted on two horses and equipped as well as the times permitted. The adventures they met with were thrilling in the extreme, and have been described at length in earlier volumes.[2]

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The youths overtook the expedition after it had gone far up the “Great Muddy,” as the Missouri had already become known, and the coveted signature was obtained. Then the lads were tempted to continue with the party, since Captain Lewis was sending back one of his most trusted scouts with an account of what had already happened to the expedition, for the perusal of President Jefferson; and he could be trusted to see that the precious document reached the Armstrongs.

During the winter just passed the two boys were kept busy in the rôle of scouts and providers of fresh meat for the camp, a duty which their early training made them peculiarly fitted to assume.

The expedition had laid out a comfortable camp near the Indian village of the Mandan tribe, with whom peaceful relations had been established at the time of their first arrival in the neighborhood.

Some of the bolder spirits had ventured into the realm of natural wonders now known as Yellowstone Park, and had viewed with amazement and awe the strange geysers that spouted hot water hundreds of feet in the air at stated periods, as well as many other singular mysteries.

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Dick and Roger had been among the fortunate few to view these marvels; but, as a rule, the soldiers and bordermen associated with the two captains were almost as superstitious as the ignorant red men, and actually feared to set eyes on these strange freaks of Nature which they could not understand. The Indians called the place the Bad Lands, and believed an evil Manitou dwelt there, who was ever ready to seize upon and enchain those reckless warriors who should invade his territory.

Slowly the long winter had passed away, and all seemed to be going well. There had been occasional signs of trouble, when hostile hunting parties of Indians were encountered; but, thus far, none of the expedition had been more than wounded in these frays.

Spring was at last at hand, and every one in the party looked forward with eagerness to the fresh start that was soon to be made. They had gathered much information concerning the vast stretch of plains and mountains that still lay between them and their goal; but, since only Indians had ever penetrated that wilderness, these stories were invariably untrustworthy, for the mind of the red man was very much like that of a child, and could[8] see things only from an imaginative standpoint.

About all that the adventurers really knew was that there was a tremendous barrier of mountains which they must climb before they could hope to attain their ambitious aim and gaze upon the Pacific Ocean, seen at that time only by those, following Balboa, who had crossed the narrow isthmus where the Panama Canal now joins the rival oceans.

Every evening, when the sun was setting in a maze of glowing colors, Dick and Roger were accustomed to stand and watch until the last fiery finger had finally faded from the skies. To them that mysterious West held out beckoning arms. They never tired of talking about the fresh wonders they might gaze upon once they started into the trackless wilds; and their young souls were aflame with eagerness as the days crept along, each one bringing them closer to the hour of departure.

For some time they had intended to take a canoe through the big rapids of the river, which they had passed in ascending the stream, before making the winter camp. From the Indians they had secured all possible information, and finally, knowing that their time here was now[9] short, they had set forth with the canoe that had been their property for months, bent upon undertaking the rather risky voyage.

If the daring canoe-man knows his course, the passing through a rapid, amidst all the foam and rush of hungry waters, is not the perilous thing it seems. Besides a knowledge of the way, all that is required is a bold heart, a quick eye, a stout paddle, and muscular arms to wield it.

The two lads soon entered the upper stretches of the white-capped water. They quickly picked out their course, and found themselves shooting downward with almost incredible speed. Around them on every hand was boiling, tumultuous water, curling and rushing and leaping as though eager to seize upon its prey.

Dick and his cousin were not at all dismayed. They had rubbed up against perils so often in their young lives that they could keep cool in the face of almost any danger. Roger crouched in the bow and fended off from the rocks, so that the glancing blows the boat received would not damage the tough skins of which the craft was made.

Dick occupied the stern, and his was the crafty hand that really guided the canoe, for Roger always[10] acknowledged that his cousin could handle a paddle better than he could.

They had passed more than two-thirds of the way down the rapids, and the worst seemed to be behind them, when something strange happened.

The canoe struck a partly submerged, but perfectly smooth, rock. It was only a slight blow, and glancing at that, but nevertheless the results were startling. No sooner had the accident occurred than the bottom of the boat gaped open and the water rushed in with terrible speed. One look convinced Dick that it was quite hopeless to try to keep the craft afloat with their weight to force this flood through the hole.

“Quick! snatch up your gun, and jump overboard, Roger!” he shouted. “And hold on to the boat, remember, like grim death!”

Roger was nothing if not catlike in his actions when an emergency arose; and the two lads leaped over into the swirling water as one, ready to battle for their lives with the rapids, where the superstitious red men said the evil spirits dwelt amidst continual strife and warring.

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CHAPTER II WRECKED IN THE RAPIDS

When they made this sudden plunge, the two boys were careful to maintain their grip upon the sides of the boat, one being on the right and the other on the left. Relieved of their weight, the buoyant canoe would probably float, and might yet prove of considerable help to them in navigating the remainder of the boisterous rapids.

All pioneer boys early learned to swim like fishes. It was as much a part of their education as handling a gun, or acquiring a knowledge of woodcraft. The lad who was not proficient in all these things would have been hard to find, and had he been discovered, the chances were he would have been deemed a true mollycoddle, and fit only to wear the dresses of his sister, or, as the Indians would have described it, be a “squaw.”

No sooner had Dick and Roger found themselves in the swift flowing waters than they[12] struck out most manfully to keep themselves and the boat afloat. It was no new experience in their adventurous career, for before now they had more than once found themselves battling with a flood.

For a brief time it promised to be a most exciting experience, and one that would require their best endeavors if they hoped to come out alive at the foot of the rapids. To be hurled against some of the jutting spurs of rock with all the force of that speeding current would mean blows that would weaken their powers of resistance, and cause them to lose their grip on the side of the canoe.

There were times when they were almost overwhelmed by the dashing, foamy waters. In every instance, however, their pluck and good judgment served to carry them through the difficulty.

All the while they had the satisfaction of knowing that they must be drawing closer to the end of the rapids. Already Dick believed he could notice a little slackening of the fury with which they were beaten on all sides by the lashing waters. He managed to give a shout to encourage his cousin.

“Keep holding on, Roger; we are nearly at[13] the bottom! Another minute will take us into smoother water! Tighten your grip, and we shall win out yet!”

“I’m game to the finish!” was all Roger could say in reply, for every time he opened his mouth it seemed as though some of the riotous water would swoop over his head and almost choke him by forcing itself down his throat.

Before another minute was half over they had come to the foot of the rapids, and, still holding to the waterlogged canoe, floated out upon comparatively smooth water. Here amidst the foam and eddies they managed to push the boat toward the shore.

Roger was already laughing, a little hysterically it is true, for he had been tremendously worked up over the exciting affair. It might have ended in a tragedy for them; but, now that the peril was past, Roger could afford to act as if he saw only the humorous side of the accident.

“That was a very close call, Dick!” he ventured, as they continued to swim as best they could, holding their guns in the hands that at the same time clutched the gunwales of the boat.

“We rather expected it,” replied Dick, “and laid our plans to meet an upset; but it came with[14] a rush, after all. Who’d ever believe such a little knock against a rock would have burst the tough skin of our hide boat?”

“Yes, and a perfectly smooth rock at that,” added Roger, as though he knew this to a certainty, and it added to the mystery in his eyes. “I believed these boats were tough enough to stand ten times that amount of pounding. I believe after all I prefer our old style of dugout.”

“Yes, they may be clumsy, but you can depend on them all the time; and after this I think I’ll be suspicious about a hide boat,” Dick continued.

The shore was now close at hand, and they found little difficulty in making a landing. At the same time the half sunken Indian boat was dragged up on the bank, and tipped over to relieve it of the water, though that began to pour out through the rent in the bottom as soon as it left the river.

It was only natural that the two boys should first throw themselves down on the soft bank to regain some of their breath after such an exciting time. Then, having been brought up in the school of preparedness, their next act was to examine their guns, and to renew the priming of powder in the pan, so that the weapons, on[15] which, they always depended to defend themselves against sudden perils, would be in condition for immediate use in case of necessity.

In those days old heads were to be found on young shoulders. Responsibility caused lads, hardly entering their teens, to become the defenders of their families, as well as hunters and trappers. And the Armstrong cousins had long filled a position of trust of this description in the home circles.

“Well, we shot the rapids, all right,” remarked Roger, presently, with a whimsical smile; “but not exactly as we had planned. Now we can have the pleasure of walking back to camp. At least it saves us the bother of paddling all the way, after making a carry around the rapids. And we meant to give our boat to one of the Mandan boys, you remember, Dick.”

“I’m puzzled about that boat,” remarked the other, frowning.

“I suppose you mean you wonder what made it play such a treacherous trick on us, after standing the wear and tear of the winter,” Roger observed.

“Yes, for you remember we examined it closely only yesterday, and made sure it was in perfect condition. Suppose we take a look at[16] that break, and see how it happened to come.”

“Oh! the chances are,” said Roger, carelessly, “the old hide became worn or weak through age, and gave way. Still,” he added, “that was only a little bump, Dick, and I’m as bothered as you are how to explain it.”

In another minute they were bending over the upturned canoe. Immediately both boys uttered exclamations of astonishment, as though they had made a discovery that gave them an unexpected thrill.

“Why, it looks as if a sharp knife blade had been drawn straight down along here, and cut nearly through the skin, so that even a little blow would finish it!” exclaimed Roger, turning his troubled eyes upon his cousin as if to ascertain whether the other agreed with him.

“That is exactly what has been done,” added Dick, soberly. “See, you can even notice where the slit extends further than the break. This was not as much an accident as we thought, Roger. Some rascal, who knew what we expected to do, tried to bring about our destruction in the rapids!”

“But it must have been done since yesterday,” declared the other angrily, “for we looked over every inch of the skin of the boat[17] then, and surely would have noticed the deep scoring of a knife blade.”

“There can be no doubt about that,” agreed Dick. “And the work was skillfully done in the bargain. Whoever made that cut expected that the boat would strike against rocks many times during the run of the rapids, and took chances that one of the blows would tear open the weak place. And that is what happened.”