“When do we start, Dad?” Mike asked idly.

“I thought in about two days.”

“Two days!” The Indian was suddenly on his feet and over by Mr. Cook. Again it crossed Sandy’s mind that Joe moved with the grace of a cat. “I don’t mean to speak out of turn or anything,” he said, “but why waste all that time?”

“There’s a lot to be done,” Mr. Cook pointed out mildly. “The gear’s got to be sorted and packed in trip boxes. The boats have to be loaded—”

Joe sat down on the porch railing. “I can do it this afternoon.”

“It’s a big job.”

Joe shrugged. “I’ll handle it.”

Mr. Cook looked up at Joe curiously. “You seem in an awful hurry to get out of here.”

Now Joe became flustered. “No,” he stammered. “That’s not it. It’s just that ... that every day you stay here is a day lost.”

Sandy remembered their appointment at Mormon Crossing. “What about Hank Dawson? We’re not due to meet him for another five days.”

“Oh, that’s no problem,” Mr. Cook replied. “Hank’s probably there now—getting in some fishing.”

“Then there’s nothing to hold you?” It was Joe again.

“No,” Mr. Cook conceded. “Just the problem of getting ready.”

Joe stared down at the porch flooring. “Well, suit yourself,” he said, but it was clear he was not too happy about it.

“Why don’t we go!” cried Mike suddenly, bounding up from his hammock.

Mr. Cook was still unconvinced. “We have to check our ammunition and sight in the guns. We haven’t had a chance to do that yet.”

“Why don’t you do it right now?” Joe suggested eagerly. “You go on downriver while I get things organized here. We’ll be ready by morning. I guarantee it.”

“Well,” Mr. Cook said dubiously. “What do you boys think about it?”

“I’m all for it,” Mike asserted.

“Sandy?”

 Prev. P 26/97 next