"Thur's a eezy way to make sure, an' the safest, too. Ef they've good
by hyar, they can't yet be very far off. Ridin' as they air they won't
think o' proceedin' at a fast pace. Therefore, let's take a scout 'long
the road outwards. Ef they're on it, we'll soon sight 'em, or we may
konklude they're behind on the bank o' the river. They're bound to pass
this way, ef they hain't arready. So we'll eyther overtake, or meet 'em
when returnin', or what mout be better'n both, ketch 'em a campin' by
the water's edge. In any case our surest way air first to follow up the
road. Ef that prove a failure, we kin 'bout face, an' back to the
river."
"Why need we all go?" asks Heywood. "Supposing the rest of you stay
here, while I scout up the road, and see whether they've gone along it."
"What ud be the use o' that?" demands Sime. "S'posin' ye did, an'
sighted 'em, ye ain't goin' to make thar capture all o' yourself. Look
at the time lost whiles ye air trottin' back hyar to tell us. By then,
they'd get out into the clear moonlight, whar ther'd be no chance o' our
comin' up to them without thar spyin' us. No, Ned: your idee won't do.
What do you think, Charley?"
"That your plan seems best. You're sure there's no other way for them
to pass out from the river?"
"This chile don't know o' any, ceptin' this trace we've ourselves kum
off o'."
"Then, clearly, our best plan is first to try along the road--all
together."
"Let's on, then!" urges Woodley. "Thar's no time to waste. While we
stan' talkin' hyar, them redskins may ride to the jumpin'-off place o'
creashun."
So saying, the hunter turns face to the right, and goes off at a run,
the others moving in like manner behind him.
After proceeding some two or three hundred yards, they arrive at a place
where the trees, standing apart, leave an open space between. There a
saddle-like hollow intersects the road, traversing it from side to side.
It is the channel of a rivulet when raining; but now nearly dry, its
bed a mortar of soft mud. They had crossed it coming in towards the
river, but without taking any notice of it, further than the necessity
of guiding their tired steeds to guard against their stumbling. It was
then in darkness, the twilight just past, and the moon not risen. Now
that she is up in mid heaven, it is flooded by her light, so that the
slightest mark in the mud can be clearly distinguished.
Running their eyes over its surface, they observe tracks they have not
been looking for, and more than they have reason to expect. Signs to
cause them surprise, if not actual alarm. Conspicuous are two deep
parallel ruts, which they know have been made by the wheels of the
emigrant wagons. A shower of rain, since fallen, has not obliterated
them; only washed off their sharp angles, having done the same with the
tracks of the mule teams between, and those of the half hundred horses
ridden alongside, as also the hoof-marks of the horned cattle driven
after.
It is not any of these that gives them concern. But other tracks more
recent, made since the ram--in fact, since the sun lose that same
morning--made by horses going towards the river, and with riders on
their backs. Over twenty in all, without counting their own; some of
them shod, but most without iron on the hoof. To the eyes of Sime
Woodley--to Clancy's as well--these facts declare themselves at a single
glance; and they only dwell upon further deductions. But not yet. For
while scanning the slough they see two sets of horse tracks going in the
opposite direction--outward from the river. Shod horses, too; their
hoof-prints stamped deep in the mud, as if both had been heavily
mounted.
This is a matter more immediate. The redskins, riding double, have gone
past. If they are to be overtaken, nor a moment must be spent thinking
of aught else.
Clancy has risen erect, ready to rush on after them. So Heywood and the
rest. But not Woodley, who, still stooping over the slough, seems
unsatisfied. And soon he makes a remark, which not only restrains the
others, but causes an entire change in their intention.
"They aint fresh," he says, speaking of the tracks last looked at.
"Thet is, they hain't been made 'ithin the hour. Tharfor, it can't be
them as hev jest crossed the stream. Take a squint at 'em, Charley."
Clancy, thus called upon, lowering his eyes, again looks at the tracks.
Not for long. A glance gives him evidence that Woodley is right. The
horses which made these outgoing tracks cannot be the same seen coming
across.
And now, the others being more carefully scrutinised, these same two are
discovered among them, with the convexity of the hoof turned towards the
river!
In all this there is strangeness, though it is not the time to inquire
into it. That must be left till later. Their only thought now is,
where are the Indians; for they have certainly not come on along the
road.
"Boys!" says Woodley, "we've been makin' a big roundabout 'ithout
gainin' a great deal by it. Sartin them redskins hev stopped at the
river, an' thar mean squatting for the remainder o' this night. That'll
suit our purpiss to a teetotum. We kin capter 'em in thar camp eezier
than on the backs o' thar critters. So, let's go right on an' grup
'em!"
With this he turns, and runs back along the road, the others keeping
close after.
In ten minutes more they are on the river's bank, where it declined to
the crossing. They see no Indians there--no human creatures of any
kind--nor yet any horses!