THE TRACK OF THE MARKED HOOF
"WHAT'S gone wrong, Roger?"
"Our packhorse has disappeared in the night; I've looked high and low
for him, Dick, but it's no use."
"Did you hobble him the way we had the other animals fixed?" asked the
other lad.
"Yes, but you know he always had a habit of straying farther than
either of the riding horses; and the chances are he's gone so far now
that he doesn't know the way back. What will we do about it, Dick; wait
over and spend the best part of a day looking for him; or divide up the
stuff, and get on?"
Impatient Roger undoubtedly would be for the latter method of solving
the question, if left to his own devices. He was already tired of the
slow progress they seemed to have been making in all these weeks they
had been on the go.
"Well, in the first place," began Dick, "we ought to make some sort of
a hunt for the packhorse. We've managed to keep him with us so far,
after some narrow shaves, and it would be a great pity to let him go
just because we didn't want to take the trouble to look him up."
"But," objected the other, "he may be miles away from here by now."
"Very well, Roger; if we find that such is the case we can give the
hunt up, and do the next best thing. But let's start out, and see where
his tracks lead."
"But how are we to know which are the tracks of the led animal, Dick?"
queried Roger. "Horses' hoofs are pretty much the same, seems to me."
"Well, yes, as a rule that is so," came the reply, with a confident
smile; "but in this case it happens that old Peter had a chip knocked
from the outside edge of his off hind hoof, which always left a mark I
could tell. I've noticed it about a hundred times, and always thought
that, if the old stray ever did get away, from us, with the stuff on
his back, we could easily follow his trail."
"It takes you to notice all those things, Dick; and yet I have a good
pair of eyes, too," observed Roger, thoughtfully.
"As good as mine, and perhaps better, Roger; but the trouble is you
seldom use them as much as you might. But come, let us start out and
see what there is to be found. And look for the track with the outer
edge sheared off."
The two boys had been in camp in a little depression on the bank of the
river, which they had reached on the preceding afternoon.
At the time, the day had not been so far advanced but that they could
have gone a few miles farther; but as soon as Dick had seen this
camping place he had surprised and partly dismayed the eager Roger by
expressing a desire to put in the night there.
The reason for this became manifest later on, when he showed his
companion unmistakable signs to prove that the expedition they were
following had, in fact, tied up there for the night. There were
numerous indications to prove this--tracks of white men's shoes, and
the moccasins of the guides and trappers accompanying the soldiers; as
well as the hoof prints of the horses.
Of course, when he learned this fact Roger was reconciled to wasting
a little of their precious time. He knew that they could discover a
variety of things while camping in the same place that those who
preceded them had occupied.
And, after a careful examination of the signs, with a remembrance of
the fact that quite a heavy rain had fallen two weeks before, which
would have washed away any tracks made before its coming, both boys
were convinced that the expedition must have camped here after that
storm.
This was most important to the boys. It assured them that they had
gained remarkably on Captain Lewis and his company, who had had such a
long start of them. If the expedition had been here within two weeks,
their chances of overtaking it were excellent. Perhaps in another week,
or two at least, they might expect to come upon the boats.
That anticipation had made Roger unusually cheerful all through the
preceding night. Indeed, he even found difficulty in sleeping, and had
been on his feet numerous times after they lay down in their blankets
under the shelter of the tent.
And now a new source of trouble had come upon them. Old Peter, the
packhorse, had a habit of wandering off; and on several other occasions
Roger had been compelled to hunt for him in the morning; but this time
he seemed to have disappeared for good.
Of course both lads took their rifles with them when leaving camp. In
those early days, when one's life often depended on prompt action,
and also on having the means of defence handy, men and boys never
neglected to keep their firearms where they could lay a hand on them
at a second's warning. Even when they slept, Dick and his cousin kept
their guns close by, with a protecting arm generally thrown over them,
for they looked upon these weapons as their best, indeed only, friends
in this wild country.
It took Dick but a minute or two to circle around just outside the
camp, and find the track of the broken hoof. Just as he expected, it
soon began to edge away from camp. Old Peter was evidently up to his
tricks again, and the grass must have seemed sweeter to him the further
he could roam away from the spot where the tent had been pitched.
They followed the trail for a few minutes. Then Dick came to a pause,
and, screening his eyes with his hand, looked keenly around.
"See any sign of the old rascal?" asked Roger.
"I must say I don't," came the answer; "and, to tell the truth, I
hardly like the idea of wandering so far away from camp. While we are
gone some one might come along and steal everything we own--horses,
outfit and all."
"That would be a tough deal for us, Dick," remarked the other; "and for
one I don't think it would pay us to take the chance for the sake of
such an old horse as Peter. But what shall we do?"
"Go back and get our breakfast," answered Dick, promptly, as though he
had been making up his mind while they hunted for the tracks; "then, if
he doesn't show up, we can load the stuff on both our horses, and start
out."
"But that would be a pretty uncomfortable way of doing, I'd say,"
objected Roger, who did not like the thought of riding perched on top
of the folded tent, and with all manner of other things around him.
"Oh! I don't mean to try it long," the other hastened to reply. "You
see, it happens that the trail leads up-river, so we could keep on
following it, and not leave our stuff unprotected. Then, if we found
Peter, it would be all right; and, on the other hand, if we didn't,
and had to give him up, I've a notion we'd better get rid of a few
things like the tent, and go on our journey lighter."
"It is pretty old, for a fact, and clumsy, too. When that Indian brave
sold the tent to us, he played a smart trick, for the skins had been
exposed so long to sun and rain and wind that they were getting weak. I
won't be sorry to see the old affair kicked out. We're used to sleeping
on the ground, and if it rains we can make a shelter out of branches,
or find a hole in the rocks."
"Perhaps a hollow tree," added Dick, laughingly, as they turned back
toward camp.
"Oh, well, in that case we'll try to make sure it doesn't happen to be
the den of a bear," observed the other. "Every time I think of that
fellow about to drop down on us, it gives me the shivers."
On reaching the camp they hurried preparations for breakfast. It was
always a simple meal, consisting of some meat or fish, cooked over the
small fire they had burning, and a dish of tea, of which both boys
happened to be very fond. Coffee in those early days was almost an
unknown luxury among the Western pioneers along the Missouri.
When they had partaken of this frugal but satisfying meal, the boys
started to take down the skin tent which had been the subject of
Roger's remarks. It was an old Indian lodge, and, while the figures of
animals and hunting scenes that once decorated its sides were pretty
well faded, enough remained to interest the boys from time to time,
and cause more or less speculation as to what they were intended to
represent.
After they had managed to load all their possessions on the backs of
the two riding horses, much to the surprise of the animals, they said
good-by to their night's camp, and once more started off, heading into
the northwest, and following the river.
Thus far much of their journey had been over the level plains, although
from time to time they had been in the country of hills and forests, as
well as rocky sections.
It happened that they were just then in a region where the woods came
down to the banks of the river; and in the open places grew the grass
upon which the hobbled horses had fed during the night.
Neither of the boys thought to climb into their saddles while following
the marked trail of the missing packhorse; indeed, that would have
been next door to an impossibility, with all those traps piled high
on the animals' backs. They walked along ahead of the horses, keeping
their eyes for the most part on the trail.
"The old sinner, to think that he'd wander all this way from where the
others put in the night," Roger remarked, when they had kept on for
almost ten minutes.
"Still, he doesn't show up ahead, as far as I can see," Dick observed,
"and, if we fail to sight him soon, we'll have to say good-by to Peter,
because he's beginning to bear away from the river, and we don't want
to spend a whole day looking for a poor old packhorse which we'd soon
lose, I reckon, anyway, when we get in the region of the hostile
Indians."
He had hardly said this when he threw up his hand.
"Stop a minute, Roger," said Dick, bending down, as though he had made
a discovery that aroused his deepest interest.
"What have you found--did Peter break his hobble rope? For I notice you
have picked up a piece of it, Dick."
"Look closer, and you will see that it has been cut by something
sharp, which I should say must have been a knife," the other went on,
hurriedly, yet with conviction in his voice; "and, Roger, we might as
well make up our minds that Peter is gone for good, because here are
the imprints of moccasins in the soft earth; an Indian must have run
across our packhorse, and carried him off!"