THE LOST HORSE.
Day followed day, and every sunset found the party from eighteen to
twenty miles nearer the land of gold. They had not yet been molested by
Indians, though on more than one occasion they had encountered the
remains of those whom the savages had ruthlessly slaughtered. When they
witnessed such a spectacle they were moved less by fear than
indignation.
"I didn't think I should ever thirst for a fellow creature's blood,"
said John Miles; "but if I could meet the savages that did this bloody
work, I would shoot them down like dogs, and sleep all the more soundly
for it. How is it with you, friend Ferguson?"
"I am inclined to agree with you," said the Scotchman. "When an Indian
makes himself a beast of prey he should be treated accordingly."
"Are there any Indians in California?" asked Peabody nervously.
"I don't think we shall have any trouble with them there, Mr. Peabody,"
said Ferguson.
"Then I wish I was there now. It must be terrible to be scalped;" and
the young man from Boston shuddered.
"I don't think it would be an agreeable surgical operation," said
Fletcher, who had just come up. "Let us hope that we shall not be
called upon to undergo it."
The next morning, when breakfast was over, and the party was preparing
to start, an unpleasant discovery was made. One of the most valuable
horses was missing. He must have slipped his tether during the night,
and strayed away; as they were situated, the loss of such an animal
would be felt.
"He can't be far away," said Fletcher. "Some of us must go after him."
"Let Peabody mount the mustang, and undertake to find him," suggested
John Miles, winking at the captain.
"Mr. Peabody," said Captain Fletcher gravely, "will you undertake to
recover the horse? We shall all feel under great obligations to you."
"I--I hope you will excuse me, Captain Fletcher," stammered Peabody, in
great alarm. "I know I couldn't find the horse. I shouldn't know where
to look."
"This is where he got away. You can see his trail in the grass," said
Scott, a young man from Indiana. "All you will have to do will be to
follow the trail, Mr. Peabody."
"I'm very near-sighted," pleaded Peabody. "I should lose my way, and
never come back."
"Carrying the mustang with you? That would be a loss indeed," said John
Miles pointedly. "On the whole, Captain Fletcher, we had better excuse
Mr. Peabody."
"Mr. Peabody is excused," said the leader.
"Thank you," said Peabody, looking relieved. "I would go, I am sure, if
I could do any good; but I know I couldn't."
"Who will volunteer?" asked Fletcher.
"Let me go," said Tom eagerly.
"You are not afraid of losing your way, Tom?" said Miles.
"No; or if I do, I will find it again."
"That boy is more of a man now than Peabody will ever be," said Miles,
in a low voice to Ferguson.
"That he is," said the Scotchman, who was a firm friend of our young
hero. "There is the making of a noble man in him."
"I believe you."
"I have no objection to your going, Tom," said Fletcher; "but it is
better that you should have company. Who will go with the boy?"
"I," said several, among them John Miles and Henry Scott.
"You may go, Scott," said the leader. "I have work for Miles at camp.
The sooner you get started the better."
"All right, captain. Come along, Tom."
The two were in the saddle before two minutes had passed, and, guided by
the trail, struck out upon the prairie.
Scott was a tall, broad-shouldered young farmer, not over twenty-five,
strong and athletic, and reported, the best runner, wrestler, and
vaulter in the party. Tom was very well pleased to have his company.