THE PIONEER BOYS
OF THE MISSOURI
OR: IN THE COUNTRY OF THE SIOUX

PREFACE

My Dear Boys:—It is with great pleasure that I have responded to my publisher’s appeal for a new volume in connection with boy pioneer life during those early days in the history of our country when brave men, and women also, kept pushing the frontier line constantly westward, toward the setting sun.

Since Bob and Sandy Armstrong came to the end of their migrations when they settled on the land purchased by old David, near the junction of the Missouri River with the mighty Mississippi, it is obvious that little that is new could be written concerning those old friends of ours.

But as it happened that they founded families of their own, and each had a son who was said to be a “chip of the old block,” the story of young pioneer achievements can best be continued by transferring our allegiance to these two sturdy lads, Dick and Roger, whom, I feel sure, you will like fully as well as you did their fathers.

Just at the time when they had become strapping lads, ready to place full confidence in their ability to take care of themselves, it chanced that a wonderful opportunity came to them, whereby they were enabled to traverse the course of the great Missouri River from its mouth to its far-away source among the Rocky Mountains.

What this opportunity was like, and what astonishing things they met with on the long and dangerous journey, I have endeavored to describe and set down between the covers of this present book. I trust that you will enjoy reading it fully as well as you did the preceding volumes; and that at some date in the near future we may meet again in the pages of still another story of boy pioneer life.

April 15th, 1914.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

CHAPTER I
TWO BOYS IN A DUGOUT CANOE

“We are on the worse side of the river, Cousin Roger, if a storm breaks!”

“That is true, Dick; but it may not come down on us for hours yet; and the fish are taking hold finely now.”

“Yes, and no one likes to pull them in better than I do; but it seems to me we already have enough in the dugout to supply the whole Armstrong settlement.”

“Then mother can send some down to the Cragans in the St. Louis settlement; for they are old, and Mr. Cragan seldom goes out on the Missouri nowadays. Just wait a little longer, Dick. Oh! what a tug that was! Why, they keep getting bigger all the while. Look, the finest buffalo fish we’ve taken this afternoon, Dick! Did you ever see such a savage fighter? It makes my arms ache to drag him in against this current.”

“Mine have been feeling sore for a long time, now; but, when you get fishing, Roger, you never do know when to stop. Well, I’ll give in again, and stay a little longer, though I think we are taking big chances with that storm. But you must put a limit on the fish to be taken. When we have three more, no matter whether they are large or small, we’ll wind up our lines and cross the river.”

“Make it five, Dick, please; that’s only a little thing when the fish are biting as they are now.”

“Just as you say, Roger; but not another one, no matter what happens.”

“Oh! I always keep my word, even if they do call me Headstrong Roger, just as my father, Sandy Armstrong, was before me. Five it shall be, Dick; and see! that can take only a little while; because I’ve hooked one before my line was more than half-way out. And see him fight, will you? This is the best fishing we’ve had this year. It makes me think of the great times our fathers used to have, away up on the Ohio, where they built their first log cabin, before Grandfather Armstrong emigrated to the new Mississippi country.”

For several minutes talkative Roger had to devote all his attention to pulling in the large captive that struggled at the end of his line; and, as his cousin also felt a savage tug about the same time, both were busily engaged.

We may take advantage of their occupation for a brief time to explain just who were the two lads, thus engaged upon the rolling current of the great Missouri River, far back in the summer of the year 1804, when English speaking people were few and far between in this new region, but recently acquired by the United States. (Note 1.)[1]

Years before the grandparents of these lads had left Virginia at the solicitation of the great hunter and backwoodsman, Daniel Boone, who had discovered the richness of the Kentucky country, and was trying to induce settlers to occupy it, despite the savage Indians who resisted their advance.

They had settled on the Ohio, and, with other hardy souls, started to develop homes in the wilderness; and here the two sons of David Armstrong, Bob and Sandy, met with many strange adventures that have been narrated in the first volume of this series.[2]

Later on, a terrible flood, such as the Ohio valley had never before known at that early day, when its banks were lined with primeval forests, had swept the cabins of many of the settlers away, and so discouraged them that a party decided to build a floating house on a raft, and go further down the river, looking for new homesteads in the wilderness, this time in the valley of the mighty Mississippi.

This houseboat had managed to run the gauntlet of all sorts of perils from hostile Shawanees and jealous French trappers, who resented the invasion of what they believed to be their territory by the daring English settlers.

In the end the mighty Mississippi had been reached, and at first the Armstrongs had tried to establish their new home below the junction of the two rivers. It was, however, just before the breaking out of the Revolutionary War, when, over the entire country, settlers were taking sides, either in favor of the colonists or the king; and, as fortune would have it, the sentiment in the little community around the Armstrongs seemed to be so saturated with what they called “loyalty” to the far-distant sovereign that by degrees things became utterly unbearable to old David and his stalwart sons.

Conditions had altered so much that in these dark days the French, who had all along been looked upon as enemies, now became warm friends of the colonists. This came about not so much through change of sentiment on the part of the French as a desire to strike back at King George by lending assistance to his rebellious colonies; but, whatever might be the reason, the Armstrongs were content to accept the new order of things, and make the best of them.

Accordingly old David went away prospecting, and later on returned with wonderful accounts of the splendid opening that awaited those who would settle down close to the new and enterprising border trading post, which had been named St. Louis in honor of the French king.

In the end they had once more “pulled up stakes,” though it was not so hard to do so this time, as they had not become greatly attached to the home on the shore of the Mississippi, or their intensely patriotic neighbors, who delighted to annoy them because they favored the cause of Washington and his “rebels,” as the Continental army was called at that time.

In their new location near St. Louis the Armstrongs had labored hard to make a permanent home. As the years slipped past, the boys had grown to young manhood; and presently the older brother, Bob, married the daughter of another settler on an adjoining farm, one Nancy Adams.

In due time a second cabin was constructed, to which Bob took his young wife; and just a year later Sandy followed his example, marrying the young school teacher, Phoebe Shay, and also erecting a home of his own; so that there was now quite a little settlement of the Armstrongs, with old David as the head of the family.

As the months and years passed children came who called David grandfather; Bob had two boys named Dick and Sam; while Sandy rejoiced in the possession of a sturdy lad, Roger, and a sweet girl who was named Mary, after her Grandmother Armstrong.

When David obtained the tract of land upon which he settled, and which was just outside the limits of St. Louis, he believed that he had done all that was necessary to secure his title to the same. And, as he watched the adjoining settlement augment in size as the years passed on, Mr. Armstrong congratulated himself on having laid a foundation for his family that would bear much valuable fruit in course of time.

The King of France had given this whole tract to certain Frenchmen in consideration of services which they had rendered the Crown; and in turn they had passed portions over to new arrivals as the result of bargains that were struck between them.

But, as frequently happens, there was always a possibility that, in times to come, a missing link might be discovered in the title, calculated to bring about trouble for the possessors.

Here amidst these pleasant surroundings the children of the Armstrong brothers grew up, and began to take their places in the little community of which they were destined to form important units.

As the boys grew older they naturally took to the same things that had been of such prime importance in the lives of their fathers. Hunting and fishing were of the utmost necessity to these early pioneers, since only by such means were they enabled to provide for many of the family wants. Indeed, but for the bounty of Nature in supplying such vast quantities of game, the task of settling the waste places of our country would have been a much more difficult one than was the case.

Of course, as their two sons grew tall and more manly, Bob and Sandy Armstrong went less and less into the forest, and out upon the waters, contenting themselves with an occasional hunt in the season of laying in “pemmican,” as the dried venison and buffalo meat of the Indians was called, for the winter’s store. They had plenty to do in developing their farms, for the work in those days was much more exacting than in recent years, when so many labor-saving farm implements are used.

Those who have read the earlier volumes in this series of pioneer books can easily understand that if the two lads, Dick and Roger, resembled their fathers as much as people said, they were a pair of resolute young fellows when, at about the age of fifteen, we make their acquaintance.

Dick was steady-going, though he could be as quick as a flash should the necessity require. He was more apt to deliberate, and do the right thing, than his younger cousin, Roger, who had inherited his father’s, Sandy Armstrong’s, impetuous nature, and was inclined to be a little reckless.

Both were good-hearted, manly boys, and blessings to their parents. They had early in life learned many of the secrets of woodcraft as known to those hardy, early pioneers, and could read the signs of the trail as well as most old trappers, accustomed to spending their lives in the wilderness, where danger lurked back of every falling leaf, with hostile Indians, and revengeful French trappers, hovering around.

The English were numerous at the St. Louis settlement, and had, moreover, taken such good measures to fortify the post that no successful foray was ever engineered by the allied tribes of the West looking to its reduction. And as a certain wampum belt, presented to the Armstrong boys by the great sachem, Pontiac, for valuable services which they had rendered to him,[3] still seemed to possess a potent power over the Sacs, Pottawatomies, Foxes, and other tribes of Indians, the little settlement above St. Louis, on the Missouri, had never once been molested by the redskins, though other places had been attacked from year to year.

It was at this time, with spring only lately passed, that we find the cousins out upon the Missouri, enjoying their favorite occupation, and having such great sport that Roger could hardly be convinced that they should give up the fishing if they hoped to cross the wide river, and reach home, before the threatening storm broke.

It had promised rain nearly all day, which had been a rather hot, muggy one; but, as it seemed to be the finest fishing day they had enjoyed all season, both boys had taken chances in coming out. There were times when the stock of provisions ran rather low at home, since the crops were only getting their early summer growth, and fresh fish would always be acceptable among the Armstrongs.

Roger had so much trouble with his latest capture that Dick brought his to the boat before his cousin could. Perhaps this was because he went about his task with deliberation; while the other lad, in his eagerness, allowed the heavy fish to drag the line out several times, on account of not being prepared for his sudden rushes.

This fact is only mentioned in a casual way to let the reader understand thus early in the story what the different natures of our two heroes were; for doubtless there will occur many instances when these leading characteristics must stand out most prominently.

“That makes two of the five, Dick!” gasped Roger, as he managed to unhook his capture, and, after once more baiting his stout hook, cast it far out into the rolling stream for a fresh trial.

“Yes,” replied the other, who had already allowed his own line to run out to its full limit; “and, if they keep on taking hold as they have been doing, we’ll soon have the other three in the dugout. But you never can tell with fish. They stop biting all of a sudden, and nothing you can do will tempt them to start in again.”

“There comes another big one, Dick! Oh! isn’t it too mean, he just gave a terrible plunge, and broke away. That’s bad luck, I’m afraid,” exclaimed the younger of the fishers, in a disappointed tone.

“And I suppose he was the biggest of the whole lot?” the other remarked with a laugh.

“There, something’s at my bait again!” ejaculated Roger, eagerly. “Don’t I hope he swallows it, hook and all!”

He braced himself for the tug, having learned what tremendous pullers these so-called buffalo fish of the rivers could be, when they had the whole force of the current back of their efforts. A few seconds later his line gave a sudden jerk.

“Hurrah! I’ve got my second one, and that makes three!” he whooped gleefully, as he started to pull in hand over hand, for they were not fishing with poles, and such things as reels were unknown among the early settlers of the West.

Half way did Roger drag his expected prize in, when he uttered a dismal cry.

“He’s gone, Dick, worse luck!” he exclaimed in a disappointed tone. “Perhaps there’s something wrong with the barb of my hook, they seem to get off so easy of late; I’d better be looking after it. Anyhow, the bait must be gone, and I never yet caught a fish with a bare hook. Hope you have better luck with yours,” as Dick started pulling his line in, with something that wriggled tremendously at the other end.

“All of which,” remarked the other boy, with a smile, “goes to show that, as Grandfather Armstrong says, it’s poor policy to count your chickens before they’re hatched; and a fish on the hook isn’t always a fish in the boat. Look what I’ve caught!”

“An eel, and a big one at that!” exclaimed Roger, looking up from examining the point of his hook, which he found to be in excellent condition after all, so that the fault, if any there was, did not lie there, but possibly in his manner of giving the wriggling fish too much slack line. “Better knock him on the head before you take him in, because a slippery customer like that will soon own the whole boat, and drive us over the side, if he gets to whipping around.”

This was good advice, as Dick well knew, and, picking up a billet of wood which they used to dispatch their fish in a humane way when caught, he finally succeeded in killing the large fresh-water eel.

But, somehow, that seemed to put an end to the fishing, for, although they tried the most tempting bait, they did not get another nibble. Even the big yellow catfish, for which the Missouri has always been famous, some of them running up to sixty pounds, declined to bite.

Dick grew anxious at the delay, and several times hinted to his cousin that it would be the part of wisdom for them to give up, even though they still lacked three fish. But it was a difficult task to drag Roger from anything he had set out to do, and he kept reminding the other that they had set a limit of five fish, and that the fish were apt to take hold again at any minute; he was sure he had felt a cautious nibble at his bait just then, and, given another chance, they could easily haul in three more, big or little, it mattered not.

Suddenly a gust of wind came sweeping across the river, and made the dugout rock violently. Looking up, the boys saw that already the breeze was whipping the surface of the Missouri into whitecaps, as the squall rushed across.

“We’ve waited too long, Roger, you see!” declared Dick, calmly; “and now we’ve got to find some sort of shelter from the storm, on this side of the river!”

CHAPTER II
THE HOLLOW TREE REFUGE

“All my fault, Dick!” said Roger, as they hastened to pull in their lines, and then get the rude anchor up, for their position was an exposed one, with that furious wind sweeping all the way from the other shore of the wide river.

“Don’t say anything about it, Roger; what we want to do now is to get to work, and use the paddles. Quick! or we’ll be blown over, with the side of our boat exposed to that rush of wind!”

They worked with all their power to get the rough dugout headed for the shore in time to have the wind behind them, for they had been fishing some distance from the wooded bank. The boat had been fashioned from a selected log by the boys themselves, and was as good a specimen of its kind as any of the settlers owned; but at the best such a craft is apt to prove clumsy at a time when quick action is required.

As a result the wind struck them before they were quite prepared, and for a moment it looked as though the frail craft would be capsized, so violently was it tossed by the gusts, as well as by the turbulent waters.

“Dip deep, Roger!” shouted Dick, compelled to raise his voice on account of the roar of the wind, which sounded as though a million bumblebees had swarmed around their heads.

They bent themselves to the task, and put all their energies into keeping the dugout from upsetting. Perhaps the wind was merciful, too, and relaxed its violence a trifle, but, be that as it may, the two lads succeeded in accomplishing the feat of turning the boat head on toward the shore, and with only a few strokes of the paddles they found themselves driven violently against the high bank, against which the waves were already breaking.

“Just below, there’s a little bight, where the boat can hold out against it, if only we can get her there!” Dick called aloud; for he had noticed all these things while fishing, perhaps with an eye to future use should necessity compel them to seek a haven of refuge.

“Together, then, Dick, fend off, and let her float down a little!” cried Roger, ready to jump overboard if necessary in order to save the boat, together with the fine catch of fish, from being turned over by the waves.

But the distance was very short, and so sturdily did the two boys labor that in the end they were able to push their craft around a high point of rock that jutted out from the shore, and find a haven just behind, in which the boat might weather the storm in safety.

But, from the appearance of the darkened sky across the river, it was evident that they might expect a heavy downpour of rain shortly; and, if they hoped to escape getting soaked, they had better go ashore without delay, and seek some sort of shelter.

“Will our fish be safe here, do you think?” asked Roger, loth to leave their prizes unguarded in the boat.

“Oh! I guess so; but come along, we can’t stay here. Pick up your gun and let’s look for a couple of hollow trees, or a fallen one that will shelter us beneath its roots. Hurry, Roger, it’ll soon be on us!”

They had quickly tied the painter of the dugout canoe and, with one last anxious look at the fish, Roger scrambled up the bank at the heels of his cousin.

The guns the boys carried were, of course, the long-barreled rifles of the times, equipped with a flint lock and powder-pan. Although such weapons may excite more or less amusement in these days of the repeating rifle, and the hammerless shotgun, still those men of the old border, with their steady hands and hawk-like vision, were capable of doing marvelous execution with them. And as boys learned how to shoot before they were as tall as the guns owned by their sires, it can be readily understood that both the Armstrong lads were splendid marksmen.

The woods along the banks of the Missouri in those days were untouched by the axe of the backwoodsman, and must have been a sight, indeed, with many of the trees three or more feet through the butt.

Here and there one of these forest monarchs had been felled by some hurricane that had swept through the region in years that were past; and it was in the direction of these that the boys cast eager glances in the hope of finding a shelter from the downpour that threatened.

Right and left they glanced, missing nothing with those keen eyes, now put to their best efforts, since a necessity for a haven had arisen, if they hoped to avoid being soaked to the skin. And, as they both were dressed in tanned buckskin garments, fashioned after the manner customary with the hunters of that early day, with fringe and colored porcupine quills adorning both trousers and tunic, the task of drying their clothes was one that would take more or less time.

It seemed but a few minutes before a shout from Roger announced a happy discovery.

“Oh! look, there’s the very place for us, if we can climb the tree and crawl in at that opening, Dick! On my word I believe that’s the biggest hollow tree I ever ran across, and I’ve seen a few. Shall we try it?”

Cautious Dick glanced once more around him; but apparently could see no other opportunity to get away from the threatening deluge.

“All right, then, we’ll have to chance it!” he replied, as he started for the big tree.

Roger did not understand what these words meant until they had come to the wide trunk of the oak and he discovered many scratches there, indicating that some wild animal must have its sleeping quarters in the hollow above.

“A bear’s den, Dick!” he ejaculated, looking at his companion doubtfully.

“Yes, I guessed as much,” answered the other, “when I saw tracks over yonder. But let’s hope the old fellow happens to be away just now. I wouldn’t take the risk did not those black clouds look so threatening.”

“Shall we climb up, then?” asked the other, ready to accept any risk, in his headstrong way.

“Yes, come on, Roger; but keep your gun ready for business,” replied Dick.

It was always a matter of some concern to the early pioneers, this keeping their rifles or muskets in condition for immediate use. The powder was apt to be shaken from the pan, or the flint in the hammer dislodged just enough to keep it from striking fairly, and sending out the important spark, which was absolutely necessary in order that the weapon be discharged. And hence, under the most intense excitement, hunters were wont to keep a watchful eye upon their guns in order that they might not fail.

Both boys scrambled up the tree. The limbs were low, and fashioned just right for a quick ascent, and, as the hole which had caught the eye of Roger was not more than twenty feet from the ground, they were beside it in an exceedingly short space of time.

But it might be noticed that neither seemed in any great haste to enter the gaping aperture that frowned so darkly before them. They could easily tell that it was a bear’s den from the odor that greeted them, such as may always be detected where wild animals have their lodging; but even stout-hearted Roger would have braved the wrath of the coming deluge rather than drop down upon a savage bear.

“Do you think he’s in, right now, Dick?” he questioned.

“I don’t know. You see there was no time to examine the tracks below, and see whether the last ones headed in, or out. But we’ll soon learn that. Fire your gun as straight down into the stump as you can, Roger; while I keep mine ready to give him a shot if he comes out.”

“A good idea, Dick; and here goes!”

Roger pushed his long rifle into the hole as well as he could, and, aiming downward, pulled the trigger. The roar that followed was terrific in that confined space, and Roger hastily dragged his gun out, preparing to reload. He had in his early years been taught the first principle among hunters, that an empty gun is worse than none at all.

Dick was waiting, ready to send a bullet into the head of Bruin, did he but make his appearance; but, as nothing followed the report of his cousin’s rifle, he bent forward to look once more into the black aperture.

“Not at home, is he, Dick; or do you think I could have been lucky enough to have killed him by a chance shot?” demanded Roger, hopefully.

“Oh! no danger of that,” replied the other, laughingly. “It’s an empty den that we’ve run across, and the sooner we crawl inside the better.”

“Yes,” said Roger, “I felt a big splash of rain on my face then. But how far down do you think the hole goes, Dick? I hope not all the way to the roots of the old tree. How could we climb up again; and what a tumble it would be if we let go and dropped.”

For answer Dick dropped a piece of heavy bark into the opening, and bent his ear in an endeavor to tell from the sound just about how far it had to fall.

“I think it’s all right, Roger,” he said; “but to make sure I’m going to tie to this branch this piece of rope that I brought with me, and lower it inside. Then we can always have something to pull ourselves up with.”

“It takes you to think up such things,” was the comment of the other boy, who greatly admired his cousin’s thoughtfulness, though seldom able to shine in that same respect himself.

Giving his gun in charge of Roger while he worked, the older lad quickly tied one end of his piece of rope to the limb alongside the opening.

“Now we can climb in, and none too soon, for there comes the rain with a whoop that sounds like an Indian attack!” he remarked.

Dick would have gone first, but it would never do for headstrong Roger to allow any one to precede him, when there was an atom of danger to face. So he swung in, and blocked the passage of the other, though with a good-natured laugh.

He had shifted his rifle to his back by means of the strap that was attached to it for that very purpose. This allowed him to have both hands free. Having dropped down so that he was hanging from the rim of the opening, Roger failed to touch the bottom with his dangling feet.

“I don’t seem to make it, Dick,” he called out; “but now I’m going to try the rope. Hurrah! here’s the bottom at last; and I judge that it’s only about eight feet or so below the opening. Coming down, now?”

“Yes, because here’s the rain pouring down; keep out of the way, Roger,” with which remark the older boy started down.

He found no difficulty in landing beside his cousin. The big tree was hollow half-way down to its roots, so that hardly more than a mere shell of the outside remained.

“Listen to it come down, Dick!” exclaimed the younger lad, presently. “Sounds as if the clouds had broken above, and meant to put the river up to the flood stage again, after it had started to go down. And the wind blows pretty hard, too. I hope, now, it doesn’t knock this old oak over, and give us heaps of trouble. Wasn’t that thunder I heard? What if lightning should strike here? Perhaps we were foolish to try so hard to escape a ducking, Dick. There may be some things worse than a wet jacket, it seems to me.”

“That’s right, Roger, and I’m glad you look at it that way; but we’re in here now, and perhaps we’d better stay, and take our chances. Such a storm will soon be over; and, when the wind goes down some, we can paddle across the Missouri without running the risk of a bad spill. We promised mother not to take too many chances, because she dreads the water, after losing her brother the way she did in the drifting ice three years ago this spring.”

The wind howled dismally around them, and the rain beat heavily against the thin shell of the tree, so that at times it creaked and groaned in a way that excited the fears of Roger anew, for he thought it might be about to give up its long fight, and yield to the storm’s fury.

But Dick kept his courage up by words of good cheer.

“Already I think the worst is over,” he returned. “It seems to me the noise does not come quite so heavily; and yes, when you look up, Roger, you can even see light at the opening, something that I couldn’t do before. We’ll have to wait here a little while, and then we can crawl out to hunt up our boat, and start for the settlement on the other shore.”

Roger naturally twisted his neck in order to see the glad sight of daylight above; but immediately gave expression to a cry.

“What is it?” asked Dick, knowing from the tone of his cousin’s exclamation that he had seen something that meant new trouble for them.

“The bear, Dick!” gasped the other boy.

“What about him?” demanded Dick; but doubtless he was able to make a pretty good guess concerning the nature of the discovery.

“He just stuck his snout into the hole as if he smelled us; and look there, will you? All the light is shut out! Dick, what shall we do? For I believe the bear is starting to back down inside the tree!”