"A SPLIT TRAIL."
It proved not to be so near us as we had anticipated. Pressing forward,
as fast as our guides could lift the trail, we followed it for ten
miles. We had hoped to find revenge at half the distance.
The Indians either knew that we were after them; or, with their wonted
wisdom were marching rapidly under the mere suspicion of a pursuit.
After the committal of such horrid atrocities, it was natural for them
to suppose they would be pursued.
Evidently they were progressing as fast as we--but not faster; though
the sun was broiling hot, sap still oozed from the boughs they had
accidentally broken--the mud turned up by their horses' hoofs, as the
guides expressed it, had not yet "crusted over," and the crushed herbage
was wet with its own juice and still procumbent.
To the denizen of the city, accustomed to travel from street to street
by the assistance of sign boards at every corner and numbers on every
door, it must appear almost incredible that the wild savage, or
untutored hunter, can, without guide or compass, unerringly follow, day
after day, the track of some equally cunning foe. To the pursuing party
every leaf, every twig, every blade of grass is a "sign," and they read
them as plainly as if the route were laid down upon a map. While the
pursuing party is thus attentive to detect "sign," the escaping one is
as vigilant to avoid leaving any--and many are the devices resorted to,
to efface the trail.
"Jest helf a hour ahead," remarked old Hickman, as he rose erect after
examining the tracks for the twentieth time--"jest helf a hour, dog-darn
'em! I never knowed red skins to travel so fast afore. Thar a
streakin' it like a gang o' scared bucks, an' jest 'bout now thar breech
clouts are in a purty considerable sweat, an' some o' thar duds is
stannin at an angle o' forty-five, I reckon."
A peal of laughter was the reply to this sally of the guide.
"Not so loud, fellars! not so loud," said he, interrupting the laughter
by an earnest wave of his hand. "By jeroozalim! tha'll hear ye; an if
they do, tha'll be some o' us 'ithout scalps afore sundown. For yer
lives, boys, keep still as mice--not a word, or we'll be heern--tha'r as
sharp eared as thar own dogs, and, darn me, if I believe thar more'n
helf a mile ahead o' us."
The guide once more bent himself over the trail, and after a short
reconnoissance of the tracks, repeated his last words with more
emphasis.
"No, by --! not more'n half a mile--Hush, boys, keep as quiet as
possums, an' I promise ye we'll tree the varmints in less'n a hour.
Hush!"
Obedient to the injunctions, we rode forwards, as silently as it was
possible for us to proceed on horseback.
We strove to guide our horses along the softer borders of the path to
prevent the thumping of their hoofs. No one spoke above a whisper; and
even then there was but little conversation, as each was earnestly
gazing forwards, expecting every moment to see the bronzed savages
moving before us.
In this way we proceeded for another half mile, without seeing aught of
the enemy except their tracks.
A new object, however, now came in view--the clear sky shining through
the trunks of the trees. We were all woodsmen enough to know that this
indicated an "opening" in the forest.
Most of my companions expressed pleasure at the sight. We had now been
riding a long way through the sombre woods--our path often obstructed by
slimy and fallen logs, so that a slow pace had been unavoidable. They
believed that in the open ground we should move faster; and have a
better chance of sighting the pursued.
Some of the older heads, and especially the two guides, were affected
differently by the new appearance. Hickman at once gave expression to
his chagrin.
"Cuss the clarin," he exclaimed; "it are a savanner, an' a big 'un,
too--dog-gone the thing--it'll spoil all."
"How?" I inquired.
"Ye see, Geordy, if thar a'ready across it, they'll leave some on
t'other side to watch--they'll be sarten to do that, whether they know
we're arter 'em or not. Wall, what follers? _We_ kin no more cross
'ithout bein' seen, than a carryvan o' kaymils. An' what follers that?
Once they've sighted us, in coorse they'll know how to git out o' our
way; judjin' from the time we've been a travellin'--hey! it's darned
near sundown!--I reckon we must be clost to thar big swamp. If they spy
us a-comin' arter, they'll make strait custrut for thar, and then I know
what they'll do."
"What?"
"They'll scatter thar; and ef they do, we might as well go sarchin' for
bird's-nests in snow time."
"What should we do?"
"It are best for the hul o' ye to stop here a bit. Me and Jim
Weatherford'll steal forbad to the edge of the timmer, an' see if
they're got acrosst the savanner. Ef they are, then we must make roun'
it the best way we kin, an' take up thar trail on the tother aide.
Thar's no other chance. If we're seen crossin' the open ground, we may
jest as well turn tail to 'em, and take the back-track home agin."
To the counsel of the alligator-hunter there was no dissenting voice.
All acknowledged its wisdom, and he was left to carry out the design
without opposition.
He and his companion once more dismounted from their horses, and,
leaving us standing among the trees, advanced stealthily towards the
edge of the opening.
It was a considerable time before they came back; and the other men were
growing impatient. Many believed we were only losing time by this tardy
reconnoissance, and the Indians would be getting further away. Sonde
advised that the pursuit should be continued at once, and that, seen or
not, we ought to ride directly onwards.
However consonant with my own feelings--burning as I was for a conflict
with the murderers--I knew it would not be a prudent course. The guides
were in the right.
These returned at length, and delivered their report. There _was_ a
savanna, and the Indians had crossed it. They had got into the timber
on its opposite side, and neither man nor horse was to be seen. They
could scarcely have been out of sight, before Hickman and Weatherford
arrived upon its nearer edge, and the former averred that he had seen
the tail of one of their horses, disappearing among the bushes.
During their absence, the cunning trackers had learned more. From the
sign they had gathered another important fact--that there was no longer
_a trail for us to follow_!
On entering the Savanna the Indians had _scattered_--the paths they had
taken across the grassy meadow, were as numerous as their horses. As
the hunter expressed it, the trail "war split up into fifty pieces."
The latter had ascertained this by crawling out among the long grass,
and noting the tracks.
One in particular had occupied their attention. It was not made by the
hoof-prints of horses, though some of these ran alongside, but by the
feet of men. They were naked feet; and a superficial observer might
have fancied that but one pair of them had passed over the ground. The
skilled trackers, however, knew this to be a _ruse_. The prints were
large, and misshapen, and too deeply indented in the soil to have been
produced by a single individual. The long heel, and scarcely convex
instep--the huge balls, and broad prints of the toes, were all signs
that the hunters easily understood. They knew that it was the trail of
the negro captives who had proceeded thus by the direction of their
captors.
This unexpected ruse on the part of the retreating savages created
chagrin, as well as astonishment. For the moment all felt outwitted--we
believed that the enemy was lost--we should be cheated of our revenge.
Some even talked of the idleness of carrying the pursuit further. A few
counselled us to go back; and it became necessary to appeal to their
hatred of the savage foe--with most of them a hereditary passion--and
once more to invoke their vengeance.
At this crisis, old Hickman cheered the men with fresh hope. I was glad
to hear him speak.
"We can't get at 'em to-night, boys," said he, after much talk had been
spent; "we dasent cross over this hyar clearin' by daylight, an' it's
too big to git roun' it. It 'ud take a twenty mile ride to circumvent
the durned thing. Ne'er a mind! Let us halt hyar till the dark comes
on. Then we kin steal across; an' if me an' Jim Weatherford don't scare
up the trail on the tother side, then this child never ate allygator. I
know they'll come thegither agin, an' we'll be like enough to find the
durned varments camped somewhar in a clump. Not seein' us arter 'em any
more, they'll be feelin' as safe as a bear in a bee tree--an' that's
jest the time to take 'em."
The plan was adopted; and, dismounting from our jaded horses, we awaited
the setting of the sun.
There are few situations more trying to the boiling blood and pent-up
fury of the pursuer--especially if he have bitter cause for vengeance--
than a "check" in the chase; the loss of the trail of course often
involves the escape of the foe, and though it may be after a while
recovered, yet the delay affords such advantage to the enemy, that every
moment serves only to increase the anxiety and whet the fury of the
pursuer. This then was my case on the present occasion. While yielding
to the advice of the hunter, because I knew it to be the best plan under
the circumstances, I nevertheless could scarce control my impatience, or
submit to the delay--but felt impelled to hurry forward, and alone and
single-handed, if need be, inflict upon the savage miscreants the
punishment due to their murderous deeds.