He also took the opportunity to introduce his new friend
Pennington, of Nebraska.
"Are you the son of John Pennington, who lived for a little while at
Fort Omaha?" asked the sergeant.
"Right you are," replied the young hunter, "I'm his third son."
"Then you're the third son of a brave man. I was in the regular army
and often we helped the pioneers against the Indians. I remember being
in one fight with him against the Sioux on the Platte, and in another
against the Northern Cheyennes in the Jumping Sand Hills."
"Hurrah!" cried Pennington. "I'm sorry I can't jump over a section of
the Tennessee River and shake hands with you."
"We'll have our chance later," said the sergeant. At that moment the
fleet started again, and the boats swung apart. Through Dick's earnest
solicitation young Pennington was taken out of the ranks and attached to
the staff of Colonel Winchester as an orderly. He was well educated,
already a fine campaigner, and beyond a doubt he would prove extremely
useful.
They steamed the entire day without interruption. Now and then the
river narrowed and they ran between high banks. The scenery became
romantic and beautiful, but always wild. The river, deep at any time,
was now swollen fifteen feet more by floods on its upper courses,
and the water always lapped at the base of the forest.
Dick and Pennington, standing side by side, saw the second sun set over
their voyage, and it was as wild and lonely as the first.
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