Henry and Paul ate with the ferocious appetite that the march and the
clean air of the wilderness had bred in them, and nobody restricted
them, because the forest was full of game, and such skillful hunters and
riflemen could never lack for a food supply.
Mr. Pennypacker leaned with an air of satisfaction against the upthrust
bough of a fallen oak.
"It's a wonderful world that we have here," he said, "and just to think
that we're among the first white men to find out what it contains."
"All ready!" said Tom Ross, "then forward we go, we mustn't waste time
by the way. They need that salt at Wareville."
Once more they resumed the march in Indian file and amid the silence of
the woods. About the middle of the afternoon Ross invited Mr.
Pennypacker and the two boys to ride three of the pack horses. Henry at
first declined, not willing to be considered soft and pampered, but as
the schoolmaster promptly accepted and Paul who was obviously tired did
the same, he changed his mind, not because he needed rest, but lest Paul
should feel badly over his inferiority in strength.
Thus they marched steadily northward, Ross leading the way, and
Shif'less Sol who was lazy at the settlement, but never in the woods
where he was inferior in knowledge and skill to Ross only, covering the
rear.
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