There may not be an Indian south of the Ohio, but the fellow that's never caught is the fellow that never sticks his head in the trap." "Sound philosophy! sound philosophy! your logic is irrefutable, Mr.
Ross," said the schoolmaster.
Ross grinned.

He did not know what "irrefutable" meant, but he did know that Mr.Pennypacker intended to compliment him.
Paul and Henry assisted with the fire.

In fact they did most of the work, each wishing to make good his assertion that he would prove of use on the journey.

It was a brief task to gather the wood and then Ross and Shif'less Sol lighted the fire, which they permitted merely to smolder.
But it gave out ample heat and in a few minutes they cooked over it their venison and corn bread and coffee which they served in tin cups.
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.