Late in October, when one of the last boats was stopping at Reed’s Landing, Barker and Tatanka were watching the boat from a small window in the store.

“Look, brother,” the Indian whispered; “there is the bad white man.”

On deck stood Hicks with two companions talking and gesticulating. Hicks evidently wanted to get off the boat, but the other two men persuaded him to stay on board.

The steamer stopped only a few minutes to take on cargo and passengers before it proceeded on its way to St. Louis.

“He has hunted for us in Minnesota a long time,” Barker laughed. “Now, I think we are rid of him for a while. I suppose he has made up his mind that we have gone on to Vicksburg and he is going to follow us. Well, let him go. By this time the parents of the boys must have the letters which the boys and I sent them through a friend in a Missouri regiment, and they will not be worried by any lies Hicks may tell them. But I would just like to find out why he was so anxious to keep these boys in Minnesota and expose them to the scalping-knives of the Indians.”

After the men had completed their purchases, they returned to their camp, but they said nothing to the boys about Hicks and his companions.

The southward flight of ducks and geese and other water fowl was now at its height, and the campers had added a liberal supply of wild ducks to their store of smoked fish.

The first ducks to go south were the blue-winged teals, small birds which whizzed over the camp in immense flocks at the rate of sixty or more miles an hour. A little later, the northern ducks, blue-bills, and mallards had come down in immense flocks. But Tatanka and Barker were waiting for still larger game.

“We ought to get some geese,” the Indian suggested, and one evening as they were watching the flight of a long line of great honking geese, they saw two or three hundred of them settle on a long sandbar a mile below their camp. “Yon and Bill must rise early,” said the Indian. “Perhaps you can get some of them.”

Long before daybreak next morning, Barker awakened the soundly sleeping boy.

“Get up, Bill!” he called. “We’ll have a cup of coffee and then we’ll try our luck at the geese.”

Very quietly, without waking Tim, the two hunters slipped out of camp and got into their boat.

Soon they glided silently down stream. A mist was hanging over the river and large drops of moisture were falling off the trees along shore. Bill was shivering with cold and excitement.

“My, but it is dark and the water looks awfully cold and gloomy,” whispered Bill. “I would be afraid to go down the river alone. Listen!” he said under his breath, “I think I heard a wolf howl.”

“No,” the trapper quieted him, “the big wolves have left this country. Listen again.”

The sounds were nearer now. “Oh, it is a big hoot-owl. Several of them. They are answering each other.

“They make a noise like ghosts,” he continued, as a deep guttural, “Whoo-who-whooo,” came from a maple thicket close by. “My hair is trying to stand up under my cap, though I know they never attack anything but rabbits and woodchucks.”

The two hunters were now paddling along a side-channel which entered the main river near the point where they expected to find the geese.

“Be very quiet,” Barker cautioned the boy. “Geese not only have sharp eyes, but their hearing is very acute. If they hear any suspicious sounds there will be a grand flapping of wings and the whole flock will be off to some other place.”

The wind was coming from the south, and for that reason the hunters had landed north of the sandbar.

“Mr. Barker,” asked the boy, “can geese and ducks smell the hunter!”

“I don’t know,” replied the trapper. “I never thought of it and never heard it said that they could. Moose and deer and wolves can smell a man a mile off, and they can hear a man’s talk a quarter of a mile away; but I don’t think that birds are guided by scent at all.”

“Do the sleeping geese put somebody on guard!” the lad inquired.

“I don’t think they have any system of guards, but some of them are always standing with their heads up, and the old ganders are most watchful. If one goose becomes alarmed, they all go.

“You must only whisper now. I think we are getting pretty close to them. Step carefully, so you don’t break any sticks. All wild creatures take alarm at the snapping of sticks. I suppose they think a wolf or some other beast of prey is after them.”

The trapper went cautiously to the edge of the timber and looked down stream.

“I can’t see the sandbar yet,” he told his companion. “We must creep along a little farther. We have to be ready at daybreak, for soon after they will all go to feed on some shallow water, or most likely on some stubble-field beyond the bluff.

“These Canada geese feed much like tame geese, they like to pick the ears of grain out of the stubble and they like all kinds of young green stuff. In ............