"INJUN SIGN."
After a pause, the guides resumed their conversation, and I continued to
listen.
I had a reason for not mingling in it. If I joined them in their
counsels, they might not express their convictions so freely, and I was
desirous of knowing what they truly thought. By keeping close behind
them, I could hear all--myself unnoticed under the cloud of dust that
ascended around us. On the soft ashes, the hoof-stroke was scarcely
audible--our horses gliding along in a sweeping silent walk.
"By Gosh! then," said Garey, "if Injuns fired the parairy, they must 'a
done it to wind'ard, an we're travellin' right in the teeth o' the wind;
we're goin in a ugly direction, Rube; what do you think o' 't, old
hoss?"
"Jest what you sez, boyee--a cussed ugly direckshun--durnation'd ugly."
"It ain't many hours since the fire begun, an the redskins won't be far
from t'other side, I reckon. If the hoss-trail leads us right on them,
we'll be in a fix, old boy."
"Ay," replied Rube, in a low but significant drawl; "ef it do, an ef
this niggur don't a miskalkerlate, it _will_ lead right on 'em, _plum
straight custrut into thur camp_."
I started on hearing this. I could no longer remain silent; but
brushing rapidly forward to the side of the trapper, in hasty phrase
demanded his meaning.
"Jest what 'ee've heern me say, young fellur," was his reply.
"You think that there are Indians ahead? that the horse has gone to
their camp?"
"No, not _gone_ thur; nor kin I say for sartint thur ur Injuns ahead;
though it looks mighty like. Thur's nuthin else to guv reezun for the
fire--nuthin as Bill or me kin think o'; an ef thur be Injuns, then I
don't think the hoss hez _gone_ to thur camp, but I do kalkerlate it's
mighty like he's been _tuk_ thur: thet's what I thinks, young fellur."
"You mean that the Indians have captured him?"
"Thet's preezactly what this child means."
"But how? What reason have you for thinking so?"
"Wal--jest because I think so."
"Pray explain, Rube!" I said in an appealing tone. I feared that his
secretive instincts would get the better of him, and he would delay
giving his reasons, out of the pure love of mystification that was
inherent in the old fellow's nature. I was too anxious to be patient;
but my appeal proved successful.
"Wal, 'ee see, young fellur, the hoss must 'a crosst hyur jest afore
this paraira wur sot afire; an it's mighty reezunible to s'pose thet
whosomediver did the bizness, Injun or no Injun, must 'a been to win'ard
o' hyur. It ur also likely enuf, I reckun, thet the party must 'a seed
the hoss; an it ur likely agin thet nobody wa'nt a gwine to see _thet_
hoss, wi' the gurl stropped down 'long his hump-ribs, 'ithout bein'
kewrious enuf to take arter 'im. Injuns 'ud be safe to go arter 'im,
yellin' like blazes; an arter 'im they've gone, an roped 'im, I reckun--
thet they've done."
"You think they could have caught him?"
"Sartint. The hoss by then must 'a been dead beat--thet ur, unless he's
got the divvel in 'im; an by Geehorum! I gin to surspect--Gehu--
Gehosophat! jest as I said; lookee, thur--thur!"
"What is it?" I inquired, seeing the speaker suddenly halt and point to
the ground, upon which his eyes also were fixed. "What is it, Rube? I
can perceive nothing strange."
"Don't 'ee see 'em hoss-tracks?--thur!--thick as sheep-feet--hundreds o'
'em!"
I certainly noticed some slight hollows in the surface, nearly levelled
up by the black ashes. I should not have known them to be horse-tracks.
"They ur," said Rube, "every one o' 'em--an Injun hoss-tracks too--
sartint they ur."
"They may be the wild-hosses, Rube?" said one of the rangers, riding up
and surveying the sign.
"Wild jackasses!" angrily retorted the old trapper. "Whur did _you_
ever see a wild-hoss? Do 'ee s'pose I've turned stone-blind, do 'ee?
Stan thur, my mar!" he cried, talking to his mare, flinging his lean
carcass out of the saddle at the same time: "stan thur! 'ee knows better
than thet fellur, I kin tell by the way yur sniftin'. Keep yur ground a
minnit, ole gurl, till Rube Rawlins shew these hyur greenhorns how a
mountain man kin read sign--wild-hosses! wagh!"
After thus delivering himself, the trapper dropped upon his knees,
placed his lips close to the ground, and commenced blowing at the black
ashes.
The others had by this time ridden up, and sat in their saddles watching
him. We saw that he was clearing the ashes out of one of the hollows
which he had pronounced to be horse-tracks, and which now proved to be
so.
"'Thur now, mister!" said he, turning triumphantly, and rather savagely,
upon the ranger who had questioned the truth of his conjecture: "thur's
a _shod_ track--shod wi' parflesh too. Did 'ee ever see a wild-hoss, or
a wild mule, or a wild jackass eyther, shod wi' parflesh? Ef 'ee did,
it's more'n Rube Rawlins ever seed, an thet ur trapper's been on the
hoss-plains well-nigh forty yeern. Wagh!"
Of course, there was no reply to this interrogatory. There was the
track; and, dismounting, all examined it in turn.
Sure enough it was the track of a shod horse--shod with _parfleche_--
thick leather made from the hide of the buffalo bull.
We all knew this to be a mode of shoeing practised by the horse-Indians
of the plains, and only by them.
The evidence was conclusive: Indians had been upon the ground.