"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 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 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.