That part of the valley towards which they were going had undergone no change. The squatters had had no time to visit it, and it retained all its original beauty and primitive majesty. George Clinton appeared fully to know his way, entering at full gallop on the most out-of-the-way and rugged paths, followed by Samuel Dickson, who was in a charming humour, and appeared delighted to explore this part of his domains, for all on that side of the valley was his present from his brother. "You ride as if you had known the country ten years at least," he said. "I came here about a month before you, but I have been everywhere with Charbonneau." "Who may Charbonneau be?" "My hunter, a great big Canadian, as long as a fishing rod, as thin as a nail, and as honest as a Newfoundland dog. I got him out of a very great scrape, and he has been devoted to me ever since." "Lucky for you." "More than you think. This fellow was brought up in an Indian tribe; his life has been spent more or less in the desert. He has friends everywhere with trappers, with white and half-caste hunters; speaks all the most difficult redskin dialects, and despite his youth--he is not more than three-and-twenty--enjoys a great reputation on the prairie. He is called Keen-hand, because of his prodigious dexterity." "An excellent servant," said Samuel. "And a capital companion--always gay and contented; whichever way things go, he is always so philosophical I cannot but admire him. He is a perfect study. As an instance, he declared some time ago no squatter would ever see this place and go further." "He was not far wrong. He is a sharp youth." "You are right; but you shall judge for yourself." "Then he has told you all about this country?" asked Samuel. "In what way?" said George. "I suppose he described the situation of the valley--its distance from all habitations?" "Don't you know?" cried George. "I know nothing. We have been travelling in the dark, and should all be glad of information." "In the first place, two rivers cross the valley; that near you flows from the mountains of the Wind; the other, into which it discharges its waters, is the Missouri." "Heavens! The Missouri! Then it runs through part of the United States. We are at home." "Very nearly, though you are surrounded by red men, who, though very warlike, are generally friendly to the whites. Still, if you know the redskins you will not depend on them." "Too true; and what nations are they?" he asked. "Sioux and Dakotas, Piekanns, Crows, Hurons of the great lakes, with some Assiniboins and Mandans. A few others of no account are scattered about," he answered. "A pretty lot; and no help near." "Help is nearer than you think. About fifty miles distant is a fort belonging to one of the great fur companies. It has a garrison of fifty whites--Americans and Canadians, soldiers and hunters." "Fifty miles is nothing," said Samuel.