The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio; or, Clearing the WildernessRathborne, St. George
General
The Pioneer Boys of the Ohio; or, Clearing the Wilderness
Rathborne, St. George
Frontier and pioneer life -- Juvenile fiction; Ohio River -- Juvenile fiction
Mr. Armstrong intended to become a trader. In this way he believed he
might earn enough to support his little family; especially since he had
two such industrious boys, who could do so much to help out by bringing
in game in season, tilling the little garden around the new home, and
making good use of the few rusty and cumbersome traps they had brought
all the way from Virginia.
In their hunts the boys had already learned that there was an
apparently endless supply of small fur-bearing animals among the
valleys within ten miles of their new home.
"Just think what great times we can have next winter," said Sandy, as
they prepared for another jaunt into the timber, and this subject was
brought up by the sight of Pat's rusty traps hanging from a peg on
the side of the inner wall; for Pat was now ready to take one of his
periodical lonely trips deeper into the unknown region further down the
great river.
Just then the Irish trapper himself came out from the inner room, where
he had been saying good-bye to their mother.
"Sure it's off I am, me byes," he observed, as he held out a hand to
each, while his humorous blue eyes twinkled as he strove to keep back
the tear which tried desperately to break loose. "Take good care av
yersilves, now. And whist, lads; until the spring rains do be comin' to
wit down the dead laves in the forest, it wud pay yees to be careful
how ye set a fire goin'. Wanst caught in a forest fire was enough for
me, thank ye."
"Why, of course we will, Pat," said Bob, shaking the honest hand of the
trapper warmly; "and we all hope you will be back this way before long."
"And if you run across Colonel Boone," remarked Sandy, "as I reckon you
mean to, tell him how glad we are to be here."
To all of which Pat promised faithfully; after which he shouldered
his long barrelled rifle, gave a hitch to his leather trousers, waved
his hand to Kate, who was looking out of the window, her pretty
face bedewed with tears, and then, whistling merrily to hide his own
emotion, he strode away.
A minute later he waved to them from the border of the dense woods;
then he was gone, and no one could say whether they would ever again
look upon the genial face of the happy Irish trapper. For his life was
one constant succession of perilous adventures amidst wild beasts and
even wilder human beings, so that he actually held his existence in the
hollow of his hand.
"Come on, let us make a start," said Sandy, as impatient as ever.
Presently the two lads found themselves tramping along through the
woods, on the alert for any game worth wasting precious powder and lead
upon.
It had been quite mild of late, but to-day the wind had veered back
into the old quarter where the ice king dwelt, and was growing
stronger all the time. To the young hunters, however, the air was only
invigorating, and gave tone to their efforts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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