The steamer that bore his regiment was named the River Queen, and many
of her cabins had been torn away to make more room for the troops who
would sleep in rows on her decks, as thick as buffaloes in a herd.
The soldiers, like all the others whom he saw, were mostly boys.
The average could not be over twenty, and some were not over sixteen.
But they had the adaptability of youth. They had scattered themselves
about in easy positions. One was playing an accordion, and another a
fiddle. The officers did not interrupt them.
As Dick looked over the side at the yellow torrent some one said beside
him:
"This is a whopping big river. You don't see them as deep as this where
I come from."
Dick glanced at the speaker, and saw a lad of about his own age, of
medium height, but powerfully built, with shoulders uncommonly thick.
His face was tanned brown, but his eyes were blue and his natural
complexion was fair. He was clad completely in deerskin, mocassins
on his feet and a raccoon skin cap on his head. Dick had noticed the
Nebraska hunters in such garb, but he was surprised to see this boy
dressed in similar fashion among the Kentuckians.
The youth smiled when he saw Dick's glance of surprise.
"I know I look odd among you," he said, "and you take me for one of the
Nebraska hunters. So I am, but I'm a Kentuckian, too, and I've a right
to a place with you fellows. My name is Frank Pennington. I was born
about forty miles north of Pendleton, but when I was six months old my
parents went out on the plains, where I've hunted buffalo, and where
I've fought Indians, too.
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