"Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet 'ere
'campmint, an see ef thur ain't a road leadin inter the very heart o'
it, straight as the tail o' a skeeart fox. 'Ee see it? eh?"
"Not under kiver?" replied Garey interrogatively.
"Unner kiver--ivery step o' the way--the best o' kiver."
Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of the
encampment, and the ground adjacent. We could perceive no cover by
which the camp could be approached. Surely there was none.
What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? Had he perceived
some portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this?
I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances. Up
to the zenith, around the horizon--east, west, north, and south--I
looked for clouds, but looked in vain. A few light cirrhi floated high
in the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon's disk, cast
no perceptible shadow. On the contrary, they were tokens of settled
weather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens,
were evidence that no sudden change might be expected. When the trapper
talked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant under
cover of darkness. What then?
"Don't see ony kiver, old hoss," rejoined Garey, after a pause; "neyther
bush nor weed."
"Bush!" echoed Rube--"weed! who's talkin 'bout weeds an bushes? Thur's
other ways o' hidin' yur karkidge 'sides stickin' it in a bush or unner
a weed. Yur a gettin' durnation'd pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I gin to
think yur in the same purdicamint as the young fellur hisself. Yu've
been a humbuggin' wi' one o' them ur Mexikin moochachers."
"No, Rube, no."
"Durn me, ef I don't b'lieve you hev, boy. I heern ye tell one o'
'em--"
"What?"
"Wagh! ye know well enuf. Didn't 'ee tell one o' 'em gurls at the
rancherie that ye loved her as hard as a mule kud kick--sartintly ye
did; them wur yur preezact words, Billee."
"I was only jokin', hoss."
"Putty jokin' thet ur 'll be when I gits back to Bent's Fort, and tell
yur Coco squaw. He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Geehosophat! thur _will_ be a
rumpus bumpus!"
"Nonsense, Rube; thar's nothin' ov it."
"Thur must 'a be: yur brain-pan's out o' order, Bill; ye hain't hed a
clur idee for days back. Bushes! an weeds too! Wagh! who sayed thur
wur bushes? Whur's yur eyes? d'yur see a _bank_?"
"A bank!" echoed Garey and I simultaneously.
"Ye-es," drawled Rube--"a bank. I guess thur's bank, right afore yur
noses, ef both o' yur ain't as blind as the kittlins o' a 'possum. Now,
do 'ee see it?"
Neither of us made reply to the final interrogatory. For the first
time, we began to comprehend Rube's meaning; and our eyes as well as
thoughts were suddenly directed upon the object indicated by his words--
the bank of the stream--for to that he referred.
I have stated that the little river ran close to the Indian lines, and
on one side formed the boundary of the camp. We could tell that the
current was towards us; for the stream, on reaching the hill upon which
we were, turned sharply off, and swept round its base. The Indian camp
was on the left bank--though upon its right when viewed up-stream, as we
were regarding it. Any one proceeding up the left bank must therefore
necessarily pass within the lines, and through among the horses that
were staked nearest to the water.
It need not be supposed that under our keen scrutiny the stream had
hitherto escaped observation; I myself had long ago thought of it--as a
means of covering my approach--and time after time had my eyes dwelt
upon it, but without result: in its channel I could perceive no shelter
from observation. Its banks were low, and without either rush or bush
upon them. The green turf of the prairie stretched up to the very
brink, and scarcely twelve inches below its level was the surface of the
current water. This was especially the case along the front of the
encampment, and for some distance above and below.
Any one endeavouring to enter the camp by stealing up the channel, must
have gone completely under the water, for a swimmer could have been
observed upon its surface; even if a man could have approached in this
way, there was no hope that a horse could be taken with him; and without
the horse, what prospect of ultimate escape?
It had seemed to me impossible. More than once had I taken into
consideration, and as often rejected, the idea.
Not so Rube. It was the very scheme he had conceived, and he now
proceeded to point out his practicability.
"Now, theen--ees see a bank, do 'ee?"
"'Tain't much o' a bank," replied Garey, rather discouragingly.
"No: 'tain't as high as Massoora bluffs, nor the kenyons o' Snake
River--thet nob'dy durnies; but ef 'tain't as high as it mout be, it ur
ivery minnit a gettin' higherer, I reck'n."
"Getting higher, you think?"
"Ye-es; or whet ur putty consid'able the same thing the t'other ur a
gettin' lower."
"The water, you mean?"
"The water ur a fallin'--gwine down by inches at a jump; an in an hour
from this, thur'll be bluffs afront o' the camp helf a yurd high--thet's
whet thur'll be."
"And you think I could get into the camp by creeping under them?"
"Sure o't. Whet's to hinner ye? it ur easy as fallin' off o' a log."
"But the horse--how could I bring him near?"
"Jest the same way as yurself. I tell yur the bed o' thet river ur deep
enuf to hide the biggest hoss in creeashun. 'Tur now full, for the
reezun thur's been a fresh in consykwince o' last night's rain: 'ee
needn't mind thet--the hoss kin wade or swim eyther, an the bank 'll
kiver 'im from the eyes of the Injuns. You kin leave 'im in the river."
"In the water?"
"In coorse--yur hoss'll stan thur; an ef he don't, you kin tie his nose
to the bank. Don't be skeeart, but 'ee kin take 'im as near as 'ee
please; but don't git too far to wind'ard, else them mustangs 'll smell
'im, and then it ur all up both wi' yurself an yur hoss. About two
hundred yurds ull be yur likeliest distence. Ef ye git the gurl clur,
ye kin easy run thet, I reck'n; put straight for the hoss; an whun yur
mounted, gallip like hell! Put straight up higher for the timmer, whur
we'll be cached; an then, durn 'em! ef the red-skins don't catch goss
out o' our rifles. Wagh! thet's the way to do the thing--_it_ ur."
Certainly, this plan appeared practicable enough. The sinking of the
water was a new element; it had escaped my observation, though Rube had
noted it. It was this that had delayed him so long in giving his
opinion; he had been watching it while leaning upon his rifle, though
none of the rest of us had thought of such a thing. He remembered the
heavy rain of the night before; he saw that it had caused a freshet in
the little river; that its subsidence had begun; and, as in most
prairie-streams, was progressing with rapidity. His keen eye had
detected a fall of several inches during the half-hour we had been upon
the ground. I could myself observe, now the thing was pointed out to
me, that the banks were _higher_ than before.
Certainly, the idea of approaching by the stream had assumed a more
feasible aspect. If the channel should prove deep enough, I might get
the horse sufficiently near: the rest would have to be left to stratagem
and chance.
"Yur ridin' in the Injun hoss," said Rube, "ud niver do: it mout, on the
wust pinch: an ef ee don't git in the t'other way, ee kin still try it;
but ye kud niver git acrosst through the cavayard 'ithout stampeedin'
'em: 'em mustangs ud be sure to make sich a snortin', and stompin', an
whigherin', as 'ud bring the hul campmint about ye; an some o' the
sharp-eyed niggurs 'ud be sartint to find out yur hide wur white.
T'other way es I've desized ur fur the safest--_it_ ur."
I was not long in making up my mind. Rube's counsel decided me, and I
resolved to act accordingly.