Zeb was not long in arriving at the spot where he had "hitched" his
mare. The topography of the chapparal was familiar to him; and he
crossed it by a less circuitous route than that taken by the cripple.
He once more threw himself upon the trail of the broken shoe, in full
belief that it would fetch out not a hundred miles from Casa del Corvo.
It led him along a road running almost direct from one of the crossings
of the Rio Grande to Fort Inge. The road was a half-mile in width--a
thing not uncommon in Texas, where every traveller selects his own path,
alone looking to the general direction.
Along one edge of it had gone the horse with the damaged shoe.
Not all the way to Fort Inge. When within four or five miles of the
post, the trail struck off from the road, at an angle of just such
degree as followed in a straight line would bring out by Poindexter's
plantation. So confident was Zeb of this, that he scarce deigned to
keep his eye upon the ground; but rode forwards, as if a finger-post was
constantly by his side.
He had long before given up following the trail afoot. Despite his
professed contempt for "horse-fixings"--as he called riding--he had no
objection to finish his journey in the saddle--fashed as he now was with
the fatigue of protracted trailing over prairie and through chapparal.
Now and then only did he cast a glance upon the ground--less to assure
himself he was on the track of the broken shoe, than to notice whether
something else might not be learnt from the sign, besides its mere
direction.
There were stretches of the prairie where the turf, hard and dry, had
taken no impression. An ordinary traveller might have supposed himself
the first to pass over the ground. But Zeb Stump was not of this class;
and although he could not always distinguish the hoof marks, he knew
within an inch where they would again become visible--on the more moist
and softer patches of the prairie.
If at any place conjecture misled him, it was only for a short distance,
and he soon corrected himself by a traverse.
In this half-careless, half-cautious way, he had approached within a
mile of Poindexter's plantation. Over the tops of the mezquite trees
the crenelled parapet was in sight; when something he saw upon the
ground caused a sudden change in his demeanour. A change, too, in his
attitude; for instead of remaining on the back of his mare, he flung
himself out of the saddle; threw the bridle upon her neck; and, rapidly
passing in front of her, commenced taking up the trail afoot.
The mare made no stop, but continued on after him--with an air of
resignation, as though she was used to such eccentricities.
To an inexperienced eye there was nothing to account for this sudden
dismounting. It occurred at a place where the turf appeared untrodden
by man, or beast. Alone might it be inferred from Zeb's speech, as he
flung himself out of the saddle:
"His track! goin' to hum!" were the words muttered in a slow, measured
tone; after which, at a slower pace, the dismounted hunter kept on along
the trail.
In a little time after it conducted him into the chapparal; and in less
to a stop--sudden, as if the thorny thicket had been transformed into a
_chevaux-de-frise_, impenetrable both to him and his "critter."
It was not this. The path was still open before him--more open than
ever. It was its openness that had furnished him with a cause for
discontinuing his advance.
The path sloped down into a valley below--a depression in the prairie,
along the concavity of which, at times, ran a tiny stream--ran arroyo.
It was now dry, or only occupied by stagnant pools, at long distances
apart. In the mud-covered channel was a man, with a horse close behind
him--the latter led by the bridle.
There was nothing remarkable in the behaviour of the horse; he was
simply following the lead of his dismounted rider.
But the man--what was he doing? In his movements there was something
peculiar--something that would have puzzled an uninitiated spectator.
It did not puzzle Zeb Stump; or but for a second of time.
Almost the instant his eye fell upon it, he read the meaning of the
manoeuvre, and mutteringly pronounced it to himself.
"Oblitturatin' the print o' the broken shoe, or tryin' to do thet same!
'Taint no use, Mister Cash Calhoun--no manner o' use. Ye've made yur
fut marks too deep to deceive _me_; an by the Eturnal I'll foller them,
though they shed conduck me into the fires o' hell?"
As the backwoodsman terminated his blasphemous apostrophe, the man to
whom it pointed, having finished his task of obscuration, once more
leaped into his saddle, and hurried on.
On foot the tracker followed; though without showing any anxiety about
keeping him in sight.
There was no need for that. The sleuth hound on a fresh slot could not
be more sure of again viewing his victim, than was Zeb Stump of coming
up with his. No chicanery of the chapparal--no twistings or doublings--
could save Calhoun now.
The tracker advanced freely; not expecting to make halt again, till he
should come within sight of Casa del Corvo.
Little blame to him that his reckoning proved wrong. Who could have
foretold such an interruption as that occasioned by the encounter
between Cassius Calhoun and Isidora Covarubio de los Llanos?
Though at sight of it, taken by surprise--perhaps something more--Zeb
did not allow his feelings to betray his presence near the spot.
On the contrary, it seemed to stimulate him to increased caution.
Turning noiselessly round, he whispered some cabalistic words into the
care of his "critter;" and then stole silently forward under cover of
the acacias.
Without remonstrance, or remark, the mare followed. He soon came to a
fall stop--his animal doing the same, in imitation so exact as to appear
its counterpart.
A thick growth of mezquite trees separated him from the two individuals,
by this time engaged in a lively interchange of speech.
He could not see them, without exposing himself to the danger of being
detected in his eaves-dropping; but he heard what they said all the
same.
He kept his place--listening till the _horse trade_ was concluded, and
for some time after.
Only when they had separated, and both taken departure did he venture to
come forth from his cover.
Standing upon the spot lately occupied by the "swoppers," and looking
"both ways at once," he exclaimed--
"Geehosophat! thur's a compack atween a _he_ an' _she_-devil; an' durn'd
ef I kin tell, which hez got the bessest o' the bargin!"