"Oh, well, in that case we'll try to make sure it doesn't happen to be the den of a bear," observed the other. "Every time I think of that fellow about to drop down on us, it gives me the shivers." On reaching the camp they hurried preparations for breakfast. It was always a simple meal, consisting of some meat or fish, cooked over the small fire they had burning, and a dish of tea, of which both boys happened to be very fond. Coffee in those early days was almost an unknown luxury among the Western pioneers along the Missouri. When they had partaken of this frugal but satisfying meal, the boys started to take down the skin tent which had been the subject of Roger's remarks. It was an old Indian lodge, and, while the figures of animals and hunting scenes that once decorated its sides were pretty well faded, enough remained to interest the boys from time to time, and cause more or less speculation as to what they were intended to represent. After they had managed to load all their possessions on the backs of the two riding horses, much to the surprise of the animals, they said good-by to their night's camp, and once more started off, heading into the northwest, and following the river. Thus far much of their journey had been over the level plains, although from time to time they had been in the country of hills and forests, as well as rocky sections. It happened that they were just then in a region where the woods came down to the banks of the river; and in the open places grew the grass upon which the hobbled horses had fed during the night. Neither of the boys thought to climb into their saddles while following the marked trail of the missing packhorse; indeed, that would have been next door to an impossibility, with all those traps piled high on the animals' backs. They walked along ahead of the horses, keeping their eyes for the most part on the trail. "The old sinner, to think that he'd wander all this way from where the others put in the night," Roger remarked, when they had kept on for almost ten minutes. "Still, he doesn't show up ahead, as far as I can see," Dick observed, "and, if we fail to sight him soon, we'll have to say good-by to Peter, because he's beginning to bear away from the river, and we don't want to spend a whole day looking for a poor old packhorse which we'd soon lose, I reckon, anyway, when we get in the region of the hostile Indians." He had hardly said this when he threw up his hand. "Stop a minute, Roger," said Dick, bending down, as though he had made a discovery that aroused his deepest interest. "What have you found--did Peter break his hobble rope? For I notice you have picked up a piece of it, Dick."