"I'll tell you," said Uncle Dick; "we'll move up one more march or so, to the Beaverhead Rock. We'll camp there, and make a little more medicine before we decide. "I came here"--he turned to the others--"to have you see the sunset, here on the old range. Are you satisfied with the trip thus far?" "We'd not have missed it for the world," said Rob, at once. "It's the best we've ever had. In our own country--and finding out for ourselves how they found our country for us! That's what I call fine!" "Roll up the plunder for to-night," said Uncle Dick. "The sunset's over." CHAPTER XXIV NEARING THE SOURCE "Well, Jesse, how'd you sleep last night?" inquired Billy in the morning, as he pushed the coffee pot back from the edge of the little fire and turned to Jesse when he emerged from his blankets. "Not too well," answered Jesse, rubbing his eyes. "Fact is, it's too noisy in this country. Up North where we used to live, it was quiet, unless the dogs howled; but in here there's towns and railroads all over--more than a dozen towns we passed, coming up from the Great Falls, and if you don't hear the railroad whistles all night, you think you do. Down right below us, you can throw a rock into the town, almost, and up at the Forks there'll be another squatting down waiting for you. All right for gasoline, Billy, but we're supposed to be using the tracking line and setting pole." "Sure we are--until we meet the Shoshonis and get some horses." "Well, I don't want to camp by a railroad or a wire fence any more." "No? Well, we'll see what we can do. Anyhow, one thing you ought to be glad about." "What's that?" "Why, that you don't have to walk down into that ice water and pole a boat or drag it for two or three hours before breakfast. Yet that's what those poor men had to do. And three times they mention, between the Forks and the mountains, the whole party had to wait breakfast till somebody killed some meat. Anyhow, we've got some eggs and marmalade." "Well, they got meat," demurred Jesse, seating himself as he laced his shoes. "Thanks to Drewyer, they usually did. He got five deer, one day, and about every time he went out he hung up something. I think he'd got to the front in the party now, next to Lewis and Clark. Chaboneau they don't speak well of. "Shields was a good man, and the two Fields boys. But, though Clark was mighty sick, and Lewis got down, too, for a day or so, in here, they were about the best men left. The others were wearing out by now. "You see"--here Billy flipped a cake over in the pan--"they couldn't have had much wool clothing left by now--they were in buckskin, and buckskin is about as good as brown paper when it's wet. They had no hobnails, and their broken, wet moccasins slipped all over those slick round stones. You ever wade a trout stream, you boys?" "I should say so!"