They rode in a direct line to the spot where they had started in pursuit
of the turkeys. From this place Francois had taken to the left; but
there were many tracks leading in the same direction--of horses, too,
that had galloped.
"As I told you, brother," remarked Basil, "we could never have followed
his trail by the tracks. Even here we are not certain of it. These
must be his though--they look a little fresher than the others. Let us
try them. Marengo!"
"Stay, brother!" interrupted Lucien. "The last place I saw Francois was
yonder. I caught a glimpse of him passing round that point of timber."
"Ha! that is better. Perhaps, there his tracks may be separate from the
others. Come on!"
They rode about a hundred paces farther, which brought them to the point
of timber indicated by Lucien.
"Yes," exclaimed Basil, "you are right! He has passed here. There are
his tracks distinctly."
Basil dismounted, giving Lucien his rein. He knelt upon the grass, and
examined the hoof-prints, one after the other, with extreme care.
"So!" he muttered, as he rose again to his feet, "I shall know _you_
among a thousand."
"Make yourself ready for a hard ride," he continued, addressing Lucien.
"The dog, no doubt, will lead us in a gallop. Marengo!"
The hound came running up to where the young hunter was stooping over
the trail. The latter held a red object in his arms. It was Francois'
blanket, which he had loosed from his horse's flank, and flung away when
starting on the chase. The dog scented the blanket, uttering as he did
so a low whimper, and gazing in his master's face with a look of
intelligence. He seemed to comprehend what was required of him.
Basil now flung the blanket over his own saddle, stooped again, drew his
fingers along the grass, and, with a wave of his hand, motioned Marengo
to follow its direction. The hound, uttering a single yelp, bent his
nose to the ground, and sprang forward upon the trail.
Basil instantly leaped into his saddle; and, snatching up the reins,
cried out to his brother,--
"Come, Lucien! we must not lose sight of the dog, though our horses drop
dead in their tracks! All depends upon keeping him in view."
Both plied the spur, and dashed forward at a gallop.
"We must know how to find our way back again," said Basil, reining up,
as they passed the edge of one of the timber clumps. "We must not
ourselves get lost;" and, as he said this, he crashed the branch of a
tree, until the broken end hung dangling downward. He then resumed his
gallop.
For nearly a mile the hound ran in a direct line. It was the first
flight of the turkey. His course then altered, although not a great
deal, and carried him half a mile or so in a direct line as before.
"The second flight," remarked Basil to his brother, as both followed at
a loose gallop, now with their eyes anxiously watching the dog, and now
halting a moment by some conspicuous tree to "blaze" their way, by
breaking one of its branches.
The dog at length entered a copse.
"Ha!" exclaimed Basil, "Francois has killed his turkey there. No," he
continued--as the hound shot out of the copse again, and struck off into
the open plain--"no. It has sought shelter there, but it has been run
out again, and gone farther."
Marengo now led in a direct line for several hundred paces; when, all at
once, he began to double and run in circling courses over the prairie.
"Draw up, Lucien! draw up!" cried Basil, as he pulled upon his
bridle-rein. "I know what that means. Do not ride upon the track--you
may baffle him--leave him to himself."
In a few seconds the hound stopped, uttered a short howl, and appeared
to toss a dark object upon the grass with his snout. Basil and Lucien
had halted at a considerable distance, but they could see that the
object was some loose feathers.
"The spot, beyond doubt, where Francois has killed the turkey," muttered
Basil. "If Marengo can only catch the trail by which he rode off all
may be well; but--that--that--see! he is off again!"
Now was the time that Basil and Lucien watched with beating hearts.
They knew that a crisis was at hand. If Marengo, as Basil said, could
find Francois' departing trail, then he could follow it up almost to a
certainty. Of this both the brothers were confident, as they knew the
capabilities of the dog. But that was the point to be decided; and both
felt for the moment as if the life of their brother hung upon its
decision. No wonder, then, that they watched every manoeuvre of the
hound with breathless anxiety while they sat, motionless and silent, in
their saddles.
The hound after a while ran off from the feathers; and was seen once
more to double and circle over the ground. He did not go freely. He
was evidently baffled by so many trails approaching and crossing each
other. Again he came back to the spot where the turkey had been killed,
and there paused with a howl of disappointment!
Basil and his brother uttered a simultaneous exclamation, that betokened
painful feelings. They knew that the howl was a bad sign; but neither
spoke.
Once more the dog ran off, and as before turned and wheeled about upon
the prairie.
"O God!" exclaimed Basil, in agony, "he is coming on the old track!"
It was too true; for the next moment the hound, running on the
back-track, bounded in among the feet of their horses. Here he stopped
suddenly, throwing up his head, and uttering another howl of
disappointment.
Basil waved him back. He struck out again and followed the old trail,
but with like success. He then became confused, and ran every way over
the ground, evidently baffled. The brothers regarded each other with
looks of dismay. _The trail was lost_!
"Hold! There is hope yet," said Basil. "We may find it by making a
wider circuit. Take my bridle," continued he, throwing himself from his
horse. "Marengo!--up, Marengo!"
The dog obeyed the call, uttered in accents of command; and came running
up to the feet of his master. The latter, telling Lucien to follow with
the horses, struck off over the prairie.
He walked slowly, bent forward and downward, carefully observing the
ground as he went. He followed the circumference of an irregular
circle, of wide diameter--in order to keep outside the doublings which
Francois had made in his last struggle after the wearied bird, and which
had thrown the dog out. He passed several horse-trails leading various
ways. All these he examined, but none satisfied him. In this manner he
had gone half a mile around the circle, when his eye fell upon some that
seemed fresher than the rest. He sprang forward, stooping over them
with, a shout of joy, as he recognised the hoof-prints of Francois'
mustang. He knew them by a mark he had taken--where the dog had been
first set upon the trail--a small chip broken from one of the fore
hoofs. But Marengo needed not this. He was once more on the right
scent; and again started off, nose down, over the prairie.
Basil leaped into his saddle; and, waving his brother to follow,
galloped after, riding close upon the heels of the hound.
The trail did not lead in a direct line. At some places it did so for
several hundred yards--then it would turn suddenly to the right or
left--then turn again and again in zig-zag lines. Sometimes it
described the circumference of a circle and at one or two points it
recrossed itself. At these places the dog was once or twice nearly
baffled again.
They well knew the reason why the trail thus meandered about. Poor
Francois had been wandering, and knew not which way to go.
Once more the trail ran direct for a distance of two miles or more. No
doubt Francois had there kept up his resolution and ridden straight
forward; but, as Basil remarked, he had been travelling all the time
with his back to their camp! Over this part, as the trail was fresh,
the hound ran rapidly, keeping the hunters at a brisk gallop. At the
end of the stretch it again turned to the right and westward.
As they faced in this direction, the attention of the brothers was
called to the sky. _The sun was setting_!
A new feeling of apprehension came over them. They knew there was no
twilight, or next to none, on these high southern plateaux. Should it
come on a dark night, how were they to follow the dog, going as he was
upon a run? _He_ might still keep the trail and come up with Francois,
but what would be the good of that, so long as _they_ were not with him?
It would only give Francois another companion in his misery, but no
clue by which he would be enabled to find _them_, or they _him_.
These thoughts were communicated between the two as they galloped on
side by side. Soon the sun set, and the shades of twilight fell upon
the grass. It grew darker, until it was difficult to distinguish the
dusky body of the hound passing over the sward. What was to be done?
He would soon glide away from them, and leave them without a guide!
"I have it!" suddenly exclaimed Basil; and at the words he spurred his
horse forward to overtake Marengo. The next moment he flung himself
from the saddle; and, seizing the hound, arrested him in his tracks.
"Alight, brother!" he cried; "alight, and help me. Off with your
shirt--it is whiter than mine."
Lucien, half comprehending his design, immediately pulled off his
blouse, and after that his shirt--which was of bleached cotton cloth
lightly striped, and in the dim light showed nearly white. Basil took
hold of it; and hurriedly tore off the sleeves. He then drew it upon
the dog; and having passed the animal's fore-feet through the arm-holes,
tied the collar securely around his throat with a piece of thong, and
knotted the skirts over the flanks behind. Thus arrayed, Marengo looked
like a street monkey; and was rendered quite visible in the glimmering
darkness.
"Now!" cried Basil, exultingly, "we can follow him if it were as dark as
pitch."
"Stay a moment," said Lucien; "let us make sure. It is clear enough--I
can write yet." As Lucien said this, he took out his note-book, and
wrote:--
"_Francois, come back on your own trail. You will find us upon it. If
you cannot follow it, let Marengo guide you_."
He tore out the leaf, handing it to Basil, who fastened it securely to
the shirt.
Marengo was again set loose, and took to the trail, while both mounted
hastily and followed him.
Fortunately the night did not turn out so dark as they had anticipated;
and they could see the white covering with sufficient distinctness to
enable them to follow it, even at a gallop. And thus they rode for
nearly another hour--Basil still blazing their trail as they swept past
the timber islets.
All at once, as they rounded a thick grove, a bright object glistened
before their eyes. It was a blazing fire under the shadow of some tall
trees! Marengo made straight for it. Fearing it might be an encampment
of Indians, Basil galloped forward; and, alighting from his horse,
intercepted the dog. A halt was made to determine what was best to be
done. At that moment the fire blazed up, and a spotted object was seen
near it. Hurrah! It was Francois' mustang! Basil and Lucien now
advanced rapidly; and, to their great joy, beheld Francois sitting by
the fire holding something over the blaze. The next moment the brothers
were in each other's arms, all three weeping with joy as they embraced!
Francois soon related his adventures. He had killed his turkey, and
then lost himself; but instead of going back upon his own trail, as
Basil had done, he had wandered about until night-fall, at intervals
shouting and firing his gun. At times his spirit failed him; and he
rode for long stretches without touching the bridle, or in any way
guiding his horse. Wearied at length, he dismounted, and tied the
animal to a tree. It was night when he did so; and feeling cold and
hungry, he took courage and kindled a fire. Fortunately the gobbler
still hung from the cantle of his saddle; and he had just singed, and
was roasting it over the fire, when so agreeably interrupted by the
approach of his brothers. At sight of the fine broiling turkey, Basil
and Lucien became as hungry as a pair of wolves--for, in consequence of
their anxiety, they had not thought of dining. The roast was soon
ready; and, after a plentiful supper--which Marengo shared--the young
hunters staked their horses upon the grass, wrapped themselves in their
blankets, and went to sleep.