The Lincolns went right on board with their pack
horses, and it carried them across the shining water to the wooded
shores of Indiana.
Indiana was a much wilder place than Kentucky. There was no road
leading to Pigeon Creek; only a path through the forest. It was so
narrow that sometimes Tom had to clear away some underbrush before they
could go on. Or else he had to stop to cut down a tree that stood in
their way. Abe, who was big and strong for his age, had his own little
ax. He helped his father all he could.
Fourteen miles north of the river, they came to a cleared place in the
forest. Tom called it his "farm." He hastily put up a shelter--a camp
made of poles and brush and leaves--where they could stay until he had
time to build a cabin. It had only three walls. The fourth side was left
open, and in this open space Tom built a fire. The children helped their
mother to unpack, and she mixed batter for cornbread in a big iron
skillet. She cut up a squirrel that Tom had shot earlier in the day, and
cooked it over the campfire.
"Now if you will fetch me your plates," she said, "we'll have our
supper.
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