Chapter Thirty Eight.

Chapter Thirty Eight.The white Fog.Vain vigil it proved. I shall not tire the reader with details. Suffice it to say, that we kept watch till morning’s dawn; and then, profiting by the daylight, sought out a more convenient post of observation, where we continued our surveillance—watching and sleeping in turn. Throughout the following day, and into the second, was our vigil extended: until no longer able to hope against hope, we agreed finally to abandon it. But for one circumstance, we might have felt surprise at the result. We were both convinced that we had reached the river’s mouth in good time: since, by our calculations, the canoe could not possibly have “headed” us. But for the same circumstance, we might have believed, that they had not yet come down the Obion; and perhaps would have remained at our post a day longer.The explanation is this: On the first night of our watch, a few hours after having taken my station in the tree, a fog had suddenly arisen upon the rivers, shrouding the channels of both. It was thewhite fog—a well-known phenomenon of the Mississippi—that often extends its dangerous drapery over the bosom of the “Father of Waters:” a thing of dread, even to the skilled pilots who navigate this mighty stream. On that particular night, the fog lay low upon the water: so that in my position near the top of the tree I was entirely clear of its vapoury disc; and could look down upon its soft filmy cumuli floating gently over the surface—white and luminous under the silvery moonlight. The moon was still shining brightly; and both sky and forest could be seen as clearly as ever. The water-surface alone was hidden from my sight—the very thing I was most anxious to observe. As if by some envious demon of the flood, this curtain seemed to have been drawn: for, just as the fog had fairly unfurled itself, I fancied I could hear the dipping of a paddle at no great distance off in the channel of the stream. Moreover, gazing intently into the mist—as yet thin and filmy—I fancied I saw a long dark object upon the surface, with the silhouettes of human forms outlined above it—just as of a canoeen profilewith passengers in it. I even noted the number of the upright forms: three of them—which exactly corresponded to that of the party we were expecting. So certain was I at the moment, of seeing all this, that I need not have shouted to assure myself. Excited with over-eagerness, I did so; and hailed the canoe in hopes of obtaining an answer. My summons produced not the desired effect. On the contrary, it seemed to still the slight plashing I had heard; and, before the echoes of my voice died upon the air, the dark objects had glided out of sight—having passed under thick masses of the floating vapour. Over and over, I repeated my summons—each time changing the form of speech, and each time with like fruitless effect! The only answer I received was from the blue heron, that, startled by my shouts, rose screaming out of the fog, and flapped her broad wings close to my perch upon the tree. Whether the forms I had seen were real—or only apparitions conjured up by my excited brain—they vouchsafed no reply; and, in truth, in the very next moment, I inclined to the belief that my senses had been deceiving me!From that time, my comrade and I were uncertain; and this, uncertainty will explain the absence of our surprise at not seeing the canoe, and why we waited no longer for its coming. The most probable conjectures were that it had passed us in the fog; that the apparition was real; and they that occupied the canoe were now far-away on the Mississippi—no longer trusting to such a frail craft, but passengers on one of the numerous steam-boats, that by night as by day, and in opposite directions, we had seen passing the mouth of the Obion.In all likelihood, then, the fugitives were now beyond the limits of Tennessee; and we felt sufficiently assured of this. But the more important point remained undetermined—whether they had gone northward or southward—whether by the routes of the Missouri or those of the Arkansas? Upon this question we were as undecided as ever. At that season of the year, the probabilities were in favour of the southern route; but it depended on whether the emigrants intended to proceed at once across the plains, or wait for the return of spring. I knew, moreover, that the Mormons had their own “trains,” and ways of travelling; and that several new routes or “trails” had been discovered during the preceding year, by military explorers, emigrants for Oregon and California, and by the Mormons themselves. This knowledge only complicated the question, leaving us in hopeless doubt and indecision. Thus unresolved, it would have been absurd to proceed further. Our only hope lay in returning to Swampville. And whence this hope? What was to be expected in Swampville? Who was there in that village of golden dreams to guide me upon the track of my lost love? No one—no human being. The index of my expectation was not a living thing, but a letter! Assuredly, I had not forgotten that promise, so simply yet sweetly expressed: “If I thought you would like to know where we are gone, I would write to you;” and again: “If you will allow me, I will send a letter to Swampville,from the first place we come to, to tell you where we are going.” Oh! that I could have told her how much I “would like to know,” and how freely she had my permission to write! Alas! that was impossible. But the contingencies troubled me not much; I was full of hope that she would waive them. Communicating this hope to my companion, we rode back to Swampville: with the design of laying siege to the post-office, until it should surrender up to us the promised epistle.

Vain vigil it proved. I shall not tire the reader with details. Suffice it to say, that we kept watch till morning’s dawn; and then, profiting by the daylight, sought out a more convenient post of observation, where we continued our surveillance—watching and sleeping in turn. Throughout the following day, and into the second, was our vigil extended: until no longer able to hope against hope, we agreed finally to abandon it. But for one circumstance, we might have felt surprise at the result. We were both convinced that we had reached the river’s mouth in good time: since, by our calculations, the canoe could not possibly have “headed” us. But for the same circumstance, we might have believed, that they had not yet come down the Obion; and perhaps would have remained at our post a day longer.

The explanation is this: On the first night of our watch, a few hours after having taken my station in the tree, a fog had suddenly arisen upon the rivers, shrouding the channels of both. It was thewhite fog—a well-known phenomenon of the Mississippi—that often extends its dangerous drapery over the bosom of the “Father of Waters:” a thing of dread, even to the skilled pilots who navigate this mighty stream. On that particular night, the fog lay low upon the water: so that in my position near the top of the tree I was entirely clear of its vapoury disc; and could look down upon its soft filmy cumuli floating gently over the surface—white and luminous under the silvery moonlight. The moon was still shining brightly; and both sky and forest could be seen as clearly as ever. The water-surface alone was hidden from my sight—the very thing I was most anxious to observe. As if by some envious demon of the flood, this curtain seemed to have been drawn: for, just as the fog had fairly unfurled itself, I fancied I could hear the dipping of a paddle at no great distance off in the channel of the stream. Moreover, gazing intently into the mist—as yet thin and filmy—I fancied I saw a long dark object upon the surface, with the silhouettes of human forms outlined above it—just as of a canoeen profilewith passengers in it. I even noted the number of the upright forms: three of them—which exactly corresponded to that of the party we were expecting. So certain was I at the moment, of seeing all this, that I need not have shouted to assure myself. Excited with over-eagerness, I did so; and hailed the canoe in hopes of obtaining an answer. My summons produced not the desired effect. On the contrary, it seemed to still the slight plashing I had heard; and, before the echoes of my voice died upon the air, the dark objects had glided out of sight—having passed under thick masses of the floating vapour. Over and over, I repeated my summons—each time changing the form of speech, and each time with like fruitless effect! The only answer I received was from the blue heron, that, startled by my shouts, rose screaming out of the fog, and flapped her broad wings close to my perch upon the tree. Whether the forms I had seen were real—or only apparitions conjured up by my excited brain—they vouchsafed no reply; and, in truth, in the very next moment, I inclined to the belief that my senses had been deceiving me!

From that time, my comrade and I were uncertain; and this, uncertainty will explain the absence of our surprise at not seeing the canoe, and why we waited no longer for its coming. The most probable conjectures were that it had passed us in the fog; that the apparition was real; and they that occupied the canoe were now far-away on the Mississippi—no longer trusting to such a frail craft, but passengers on one of the numerous steam-boats, that by night as by day, and in opposite directions, we had seen passing the mouth of the Obion.

In all likelihood, then, the fugitives were now beyond the limits of Tennessee; and we felt sufficiently assured of this. But the more important point remained undetermined—whether they had gone northward or southward—whether by the routes of the Missouri or those of the Arkansas? Upon this question we were as undecided as ever. At that season of the year, the probabilities were in favour of the southern route; but it depended on whether the emigrants intended to proceed at once across the plains, or wait for the return of spring. I knew, moreover, that the Mormons had their own “trains,” and ways of travelling; and that several new routes or “trails” had been discovered during the preceding year, by military explorers, emigrants for Oregon and California, and by the Mormons themselves. This knowledge only complicated the question, leaving us in hopeless doubt and indecision. Thus unresolved, it would have been absurd to proceed further. Our only hope lay in returning to Swampville. And whence this hope? What was to be expected in Swampville? Who was there in that village of golden dreams to guide me upon the track of my lost love? No one—no human being. The index of my expectation was not a living thing, but a letter! Assuredly, I had not forgotten that promise, so simply yet sweetly expressed: “If I thought you would like to know where we are gone, I would write to you;” and again: “If you will allow me, I will send a letter to Swampville,from the first place we come to, to tell you where we are going.” Oh! that I could have told her how much I “would like to know,” and how freely she had my permission to write! Alas! that was impossible. But the contingencies troubled me not much; I was full of hope that she would waive them. Communicating this hope to my companion, we rode back to Swampville: with the design of laying siege to the post-office, until it should surrender up to us the promised epistle.

Chapter Thirty Nine.The promised Epistle.Under any circumstances, a return to Swampville would have been necessary: certain pecuniary requirements called me back to that interesting village. A journey, even across the desert, cannot be made without money; and the hundred dollars I had paid to Holt, with hotel and other incidental outlays, had left me with a very light purse. It would have taken three times as much as I was master of, to provide us with the scantiest equipment required for a prairie journey; and toward this the young hunter, willing to give his all, was able to contribute nothing. He would cheerfully have parted with his patrimony—as I with my purchase—for a very slender consideration; but, at that crisis, the Californian speculation demanded all the specie in circulation; and neither his clearing nor mine would have sold for a single dollar, had the payment been required in cash. A credit sale could not have served us in any way; and we were forced to hold on to our depreciated property—upon which not a single cent could be borrowed.Never stood I in more need of my Nashville friend; and my appeal, already made, was promptly responded to—as I expected it would be. On the third day after my despatch, the answer arrived—with a handsome enclosure; enough to carry us across the continent, and back again if need be. We were now ready for the road. We waited only for that other letter, that was to be the index to our destination.How we passed our time during that interval of expectation is not worth describing. We enjoyed the hospitality of the Jackson hotel; and contrived to escape theespièglerieof its husband-hunting denizens, by hunting the deer of the surrounding forest. During the whole time, we went not near our respective “plantations” on Mud Creek. Wingrove had good reason for being shy of that quarter; and I had no inclination to trust myself to its souvenirs. Moreover, the hours of the mail-rider were neither fixed nor regular; and on this account I avoided a prolonged absence from the post-office.Six days of this expectancy I endured—six days of alternate hope and doubt—the latter at times so distressing, that even in the excitement of the chase I could not procure distraction for my thoughts! More than once my comrade and I had almost ceased to hope; and half resolved to launch ourselves on the great prairie ocean—trusting to chance to guide us to the haven of our hopes. On the sixth day we had determined upon it; and only awaited the mail, that should arrive on the morning of the seventh. The seventh proved the day of joy. Our doubts were dispelled. The cloud that hung over our course was cleared away, by the arrival of the expected epistle! My fingers trembled as I took the precious billet from the hands of the postmaster. He must have observed my emotion—though I did not open the letter in his presence. The superscription was enough to tell me from whom it came. I had studied the fac-simile of that pretty cipher, till it was well impressed upon my memory; and could therefore recognise it at a glance. I did not even break open the envelope till we were upon the road. The post-mark, “Van Buren, Arkansas,” sufficiently indicated the direction we were to take; and not, till we had cleared the skirts of Swampville, and wereen routefor Memphis, did I enter on the pleasure of perusal. The address was simply as before: “To Edward Warfield;” and so to the apostrophic commencement: “Stranger!” I could have wished for some less distant word—some familiar phrase of endearment, but I was contented—for I knew that Lilian’s too recent love had lacked the opportunity of learning its language. Before it had time to achieve the employment of those sweet forms of speech, its course had been rudely interrupted. Thus ran the letter:“Stranger!—I hope you got my other letter, and that you were able to read it, for I had no paper, nor pens, nor ink to write it better—only a little bit of a pencil, that was my mother’s, and a leaf which father said you tore out of a book. But I think I could have wrote it better, only I was so afraid that they would see me, and scold me for it, and I wrote it in a great hurry, when they were from home, and then left it on the table after both of them had gone down to the creek to get into the canoe. I thought no one would come to the house before you, and I hoped all the morning you might come before we were gone. I would have given a great deal to have been able to see you again; and I think father would have waited till you came, only his friend would not let him stay longer, but hurried us away. But I hope you got the letter, and that you will not be offended at me for writing this one I send you, without your leave. I promised that if you would allow me, I would write from some place, and tell you the name of the country where we are going; but I forgot that it would be impossible for you to give me leave, as you could not see me, nor yet know where to write it to me. I now know what country it is, for everybody we have seen is talking about it, and saying that it is full of gold, that lies on the ground in pieces as big as hickory nuts; and I hear the name a many a time, over and over again. Father calls it ‘Californey,’ and some ‘California,’ and this, I suppose, is the right way of spelling it. It is near a great sea, or ocean as they call it, which is not the same that comes in at Philadelphia and New York, but far greater and bigger than the Mississippi and the Obion, and all the rivers put together. It must be a very large sea to be bigger than the Mississippi! But I am sure you must know all about it, for I have heard them say you have travelled in these far-away countries, and that you were an officer in the army, and had been fighting there with the Mexicans. I am glad you were not killed, and got safe home again to Tennessee; for if you had been killed, I should never have seen you; but now it is just as bad, if I am never to see you again. O sir! I would write to you from that country when we are settled there; but I fear you will forget me before then, and will not care to hear anything more about us.“I shall never forget our dear Tennessee. I am very sorry at leaving it, and I am sure I can never be happy in California with all its gold—for what good can gold be to me? I should so like to hear sometimes from our old home, but father had no friends who could write to us; the only one we knew is gone away like ourselves.“Maybe, sir, you would not mind writing to us—only a very short letter, to tell us how you get on with the clearing, and whether you have made it much bigger, and built a great house upon it, as I have heard father say you intended to do. I shall always like to hear that you are in good health, and that you are happy.“I have to tell you of a very strange thing that happened to us. At the mouth of the Obion river, when we were in the canoe at night-time—for we travelled all that night—we heard some one shouting to us, and O Sir! it was so like your voice that I trembled when I heard it, for it appeared as if it came down out of the clouds. It was a thick mist, and we could see no one; but for all that, I would have cried out, but father would not let me speak. It appeared to be right above our heads; and father said it was some wood-cutters who had climbed into a tree. I suppose that must have been it; but it was as like your voice as if it had been you that shouted, and as I knew you could not be there, it made me wonder all the more.“We arrived at this place yesterday. It is a large town on the Arkansas river: and we came to it in a steam-boat. From here we are to travel in a waggon with a great many other people in what they call a ‘caravan,’ and they say we shall be many months in getting to the end of the journey. It is a long time to wait before I can write again, for there are no towns beyond Van Buren, and no post to carry a letter. But though I cannot write to you, I will not forget to think of the words you said to me, as I am now thinking of them every minute. In one of my mother’s books which I brought with me, I have read a pretty piece. It is in poetry; and it is so like what I have been thinking of you, that I have learnt it off by heart. It is so true-like and so pretty a piece that I thought you might like to read it, and hoping it may please you, I write it at the end of my letter, which I fear I have already made too long; but I hope you will have patience to read it all, and then read the poetry:—“I think of thee when Morning springsFrom sleep with plumage bathed in dew;And like a young bird lifts her wingsOf gladness on the welkin blue.And when at noon the breath of loveO’er flower and stream is wandering free,And sent in music from the grove—I think of thee - I think of thee!“I think of thee, when soft and wideThe Evening spreads her robe of light,And like a young and timid bride,Sits blushing in the arms of Night.And when the moon’s sweet crescent springsIn light or heaven’s deep, waveless sea,And stars are forth like blessed things—I think of thee - I think of thee!“O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you, and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live.“Lilian Holt.”Ah, Lilian! I too think of thee, and thy sweet song! Simple, but suggestive words. Knew I but where to address thee, you should know how responsive to them are the echoes of my heart!

Under any circumstances, a return to Swampville would have been necessary: certain pecuniary requirements called me back to that interesting village. A journey, even across the desert, cannot be made without money; and the hundred dollars I had paid to Holt, with hotel and other incidental outlays, had left me with a very light purse. It would have taken three times as much as I was master of, to provide us with the scantiest equipment required for a prairie journey; and toward this the young hunter, willing to give his all, was able to contribute nothing. He would cheerfully have parted with his patrimony—as I with my purchase—for a very slender consideration; but, at that crisis, the Californian speculation demanded all the specie in circulation; and neither his clearing nor mine would have sold for a single dollar, had the payment been required in cash. A credit sale could not have served us in any way; and we were forced to hold on to our depreciated property—upon which not a single cent could be borrowed.

Never stood I in more need of my Nashville friend; and my appeal, already made, was promptly responded to—as I expected it would be. On the third day after my despatch, the answer arrived—with a handsome enclosure; enough to carry us across the continent, and back again if need be. We were now ready for the road. We waited only for that other letter, that was to be the index to our destination.

How we passed our time during that interval of expectation is not worth describing. We enjoyed the hospitality of the Jackson hotel; and contrived to escape theespièglerieof its husband-hunting denizens, by hunting the deer of the surrounding forest. During the whole time, we went not near our respective “plantations” on Mud Creek. Wingrove had good reason for being shy of that quarter; and I had no inclination to trust myself to its souvenirs. Moreover, the hours of the mail-rider were neither fixed nor regular; and on this account I avoided a prolonged absence from the post-office.

Six days of this expectancy I endured—six days of alternate hope and doubt—the latter at times so distressing, that even in the excitement of the chase I could not procure distraction for my thoughts! More than once my comrade and I had almost ceased to hope; and half resolved to launch ourselves on the great prairie ocean—trusting to chance to guide us to the haven of our hopes. On the sixth day we had determined upon it; and only awaited the mail, that should arrive on the morning of the seventh. The seventh proved the day of joy. Our doubts were dispelled. The cloud that hung over our course was cleared away, by the arrival of the expected epistle! My fingers trembled as I took the precious billet from the hands of the postmaster. He must have observed my emotion—though I did not open the letter in his presence. The superscription was enough to tell me from whom it came. I had studied the fac-simile of that pretty cipher, till it was well impressed upon my memory; and could therefore recognise it at a glance. I did not even break open the envelope till we were upon the road. The post-mark, “Van Buren, Arkansas,” sufficiently indicated the direction we were to take; and not, till we had cleared the skirts of Swampville, and wereen routefor Memphis, did I enter on the pleasure of perusal. The address was simply as before: “To Edward Warfield;” and so to the apostrophic commencement: “Stranger!” I could have wished for some less distant word—some familiar phrase of endearment, but I was contented—for I knew that Lilian’s too recent love had lacked the opportunity of learning its language. Before it had time to achieve the employment of those sweet forms of speech, its course had been rudely interrupted. Thus ran the letter:

“Stranger!—I hope you got my other letter, and that you were able to read it, for I had no paper, nor pens, nor ink to write it better—only a little bit of a pencil, that was my mother’s, and a leaf which father said you tore out of a book. But I think I could have wrote it better, only I was so afraid that they would see me, and scold me for it, and I wrote it in a great hurry, when they were from home, and then left it on the table after both of them had gone down to the creek to get into the canoe. I thought no one would come to the house before you, and I hoped all the morning you might come before we were gone. I would have given a great deal to have been able to see you again; and I think father would have waited till you came, only his friend would not let him stay longer, but hurried us away. But I hope you got the letter, and that you will not be offended at me for writing this one I send you, without your leave. I promised that if you would allow me, I would write from some place, and tell you the name of the country where we are going; but I forgot that it would be impossible for you to give me leave, as you could not see me, nor yet know where to write it to me. I now know what country it is, for everybody we have seen is talking about it, and saying that it is full of gold, that lies on the ground in pieces as big as hickory nuts; and I hear the name a many a time, over and over again. Father calls it ‘Californey,’ and some ‘California,’ and this, I suppose, is the right way of spelling it. It is near a great sea, or ocean as they call it, which is not the same that comes in at Philadelphia and New York, but far greater and bigger than the Mississippi and the Obion, and all the rivers put together. It must be a very large sea to be bigger than the Mississippi! But I am sure you must know all about it, for I have heard them say you have travelled in these far-away countries, and that you were an officer in the army, and had been fighting there with the Mexicans. I am glad you were not killed, and got safe home again to Tennessee; for if you had been killed, I should never have seen you; but now it is just as bad, if I am never to see you again. O sir! I would write to you from that country when we are settled there; but I fear you will forget me before then, and will not care to hear anything more about us.

“I shall never forget our dear Tennessee. I am very sorry at leaving it, and I am sure I can never be happy in California with all its gold—for what good can gold be to me? I should so like to hear sometimes from our old home, but father had no friends who could write to us; the only one we knew is gone away like ourselves.

“Maybe, sir, you would not mind writing to us—only a very short letter, to tell us how you get on with the clearing, and whether you have made it much bigger, and built a great house upon it, as I have heard father say you intended to do. I shall always like to hear that you are in good health, and that you are happy.

“I have to tell you of a very strange thing that happened to us. At the mouth of the Obion river, when we were in the canoe at night-time—for we travelled all that night—we heard some one shouting to us, and O Sir! it was so like your voice that I trembled when I heard it, for it appeared as if it came down out of the clouds. It was a thick mist, and we could see no one; but for all that, I would have cried out, but father would not let me speak. It appeared to be right above our heads; and father said it was some wood-cutters who had climbed into a tree. I suppose that must have been it; but it was as like your voice as if it had been you that shouted, and as I knew you could not be there, it made me wonder all the more.

“We arrived at this place yesterday. It is a large town on the Arkansas river: and we came to it in a steam-boat. From here we are to travel in a waggon with a great many other people in what they call a ‘caravan,’ and they say we shall be many months in getting to the end of the journey. It is a long time to wait before I can write again, for there are no towns beyond Van Buren, and no post to carry a letter. But though I cannot write to you, I will not forget to think of the words you said to me, as I am now thinking of them every minute. In one of my mother’s books which I brought with me, I have read a pretty piece. It is in poetry; and it is so like what I have been thinking of you, that I have learnt it off by heart. It is so true-like and so pretty a piece that I thought you might like to read it, and hoping it may please you, I write it at the end of my letter, which I fear I have already made too long; but I hope you will have patience to read it all, and then read the poetry:—

“I think of thee when Morning springsFrom sleep with plumage bathed in dew;And like a young bird lifts her wingsOf gladness on the welkin blue.And when at noon the breath of loveO’er flower and stream is wandering free,And sent in music from the grove—I think of thee - I think of thee!“I think of thee, when soft and wideThe Evening spreads her robe of light,And like a young and timid bride,Sits blushing in the arms of Night.And when the moon’s sweet crescent springsIn light or heaven’s deep, waveless sea,And stars are forth like blessed things—I think of thee - I think of thee!

“I think of thee when Morning springsFrom sleep with plumage bathed in dew;And like a young bird lifts her wingsOf gladness on the welkin blue.And when at noon the breath of loveO’er flower and stream is wandering free,And sent in music from the grove—I think of thee - I think of thee!“I think of thee, when soft and wideThe Evening spreads her robe of light,And like a young and timid bride,Sits blushing in the arms of Night.And when the moon’s sweet crescent springsIn light or heaven’s deep, waveless sea,And stars are forth like blessed things—I think of thee - I think of thee!

“O sir! it is very, very true! I do think of you, and I am sure I shall do so as long as I live.

“Lilian Holt.”

Ah, Lilian! I too think of thee, and thy sweet song! Simple, but suggestive words. Knew I but where to address thee, you should know how responsive to them are the echoes of my heart!

Chapter Forty.The Caravan.We rode on to Memphis as rapidly as our horses could travel—far too slow for our desires. Thence a steam-boat carried us to Little Rock, and another to Van Buren. Many days had been consumed while waiting for each boat—so many that on arriving at Van Buren, we found that the caravan had the start of us by full two weeks! Its probable route we ascertained without any difficulty—up along the Arkansas to the Rocky Mountains, through the valley of the Huerfano, and the passes Robideau and Coochetopa—thence across the head waters of the Colorado, and by the old Spanish trail to California. It was principally a caravan of gold-seekers: adventurers of all nations. Even Indians had gone with it—of the half-civilised tribes of the frontier—red and white equally tempted by the yellow attractions spread out for them in California. Though large, it was what is termed a “light train”—having more pack-animals than waggons. On this account, it would make way all the faster; and unless delayed by some accident, we might be a long time in coming up with it. It was not without a large measure of vexation that we learnt how far it had got the start of us.I should have submitted with less resignation to the necessary delays, but that my mind had been to some extent tranquillised by the contents of Lilian’s letter. They had inclined me to the belief that the emigrants were simplyen routefor California—as was all the world just then—and that the Mormon was, after all, not so strong in his new faith as to resist the universal golden lure. His design in taking the squatter with him might be merely of a secular character—having for its object the securing of a partner, in whose brawny arms the wash-pan and rocker might be handled to advantage. That they whom we sought were gone with the caravan, we were soon satisfied. Holt was too marked a man to have escaped observation, even in a crowd of rough squatters like himself; but more than one eye had rested upon his fair daughter that longed to look upon her again.Hertraces were easily told—as testified by the answers to my shy inquiries. Like some bright meteor, whose tract across the heavens remains marked by its line of luminous phosphorescence, her radiant beauty was remembered. I needed not to inquire of her. Scarcely a coterie of which she was not the subject of conversation—to my infinite jealousy and chagrin. Not that aught was said of her, that should have given rise to such feelings: they were but the offspring of love’s selfishness.Not long had I to submit to such torture. Our stay in Van Buren was of the shortest. In less than twenty hours after our arrival in the village, we took our departure from it—turning our faces towards the almost limitless wilderness of the west. I had endeavoured to add to our company but without success. The caravan had cleared Van Buren of its unemployed population; and not an idler remained—at least not one who felt inclined to adventure with us. Even the needy “loafer” could not be induced to try the trip—deeming ours too dangerous an expedition. To say the least, it was reckless enough; but impelled by motives far more powerful than the thirst of gold, my comrade and I entered upon our journey with scarce a thought about its perils. The only addition to our company was a brace of stout pack-mules, that carried our provisions and otherimpedimenta; while the old horse of the hunter had been replaced by a more promising roadster.It would be idle to detail the incidents of a journey across the prairies. Ours differed in no way from hundreds of others that have been made, and described—except, perhaps, that after reaching the buffalo range, we travelled more by night than by day. We adopted this precaution simply to save our scalps—and along with them our lives—since the buffalo range—especially upon the Arkansas—is peculiarly the “stamping” ground of the hostile savage. Here may be encountered the Pawnee and Comanche, the Kiowa and Cheyenne, the Waco and fierce Arapaho. Though continually engaged in internecine strife among themselves, all six tribes are equally enemies to the pale-faced intruders on their domain. At this time they were said to be especially hostile—having been irritated by some late encounters with parties, of ill-behaved emigrants. It was not without great peril, therefore, that we were passing through their territory; and what we had heard, before leaving Van Buren, had made us fully conscious of the risk we were running.To meet with one of the hunting or war-parties of these Indians, might not be certain death; but certain they would be to disarm anddismountus; and that, in the midst of the great prairie ocean, is a danger that often conducts to the samedénouement. It was not preference, then, but precaution, that led us to adopt the “secret system” of travelling by night. Our usual plan was to lie by during the day or for the greater part of it, concealed in some selected cover—either among rocks or copsewood. By stealing to a conspicuous eminence, we were enabled to view the route ahead of us, and map out our journey for the night. Upon this we would enter an hour or two before sundown: for then the Indian hunter has returned to his encampment, which can be easily avoided, by seeing its smoke from afar. We often saw their smokes, and more than once the Indians themselves; but were never seen by them—so cautiously did we carry out our measures.In this fashion we “groped” our way with considerable rapidity. Guided by the waggon tracks—especially when there was a moon—we could travel almost as fast as by daylight. Only upon dark nights was our progress retarded; but, notwithstanding every impediment, we were enabled to travel faster than the caravan, and we knew that we were rapidly gaining upon it. We could tell this by the constantly freshening trail; but we had a more accurate criterion inthe count of the camps. By the number of these, we knew to a certainty that we were approaching the caravan. We were in high hopes of being able to come up with it, before it should enter the mountain-passes—more dangerous to the traveller than even the plains themselves: because at that season more beset by bands of marauding savages. Under the influence of these hopes, we were pressing forward, with all the haste it was in our power to make; when our journey was varied by an incident of a somewhat unexpected character.

We rode on to Memphis as rapidly as our horses could travel—far too slow for our desires. Thence a steam-boat carried us to Little Rock, and another to Van Buren. Many days had been consumed while waiting for each boat—so many that on arriving at Van Buren, we found that the caravan had the start of us by full two weeks! Its probable route we ascertained without any difficulty—up along the Arkansas to the Rocky Mountains, through the valley of the Huerfano, and the passes Robideau and Coochetopa—thence across the head waters of the Colorado, and by the old Spanish trail to California. It was principally a caravan of gold-seekers: adventurers of all nations. Even Indians had gone with it—of the half-civilised tribes of the frontier—red and white equally tempted by the yellow attractions spread out for them in California. Though large, it was what is termed a “light train”—having more pack-animals than waggons. On this account, it would make way all the faster; and unless delayed by some accident, we might be a long time in coming up with it. It was not without a large measure of vexation that we learnt how far it had got the start of us.

I should have submitted with less resignation to the necessary delays, but that my mind had been to some extent tranquillised by the contents of Lilian’s letter. They had inclined me to the belief that the emigrants were simplyen routefor California—as was all the world just then—and that the Mormon was, after all, not so strong in his new faith as to resist the universal golden lure. His design in taking the squatter with him might be merely of a secular character—having for its object the securing of a partner, in whose brawny arms the wash-pan and rocker might be handled to advantage. That they whom we sought were gone with the caravan, we were soon satisfied. Holt was too marked a man to have escaped observation, even in a crowd of rough squatters like himself; but more than one eye had rested upon his fair daughter that longed to look upon her again.Hertraces were easily told—as testified by the answers to my shy inquiries. Like some bright meteor, whose tract across the heavens remains marked by its line of luminous phosphorescence, her radiant beauty was remembered. I needed not to inquire of her. Scarcely a coterie of which she was not the subject of conversation—to my infinite jealousy and chagrin. Not that aught was said of her, that should have given rise to such feelings: they were but the offspring of love’s selfishness.

Not long had I to submit to such torture. Our stay in Van Buren was of the shortest. In less than twenty hours after our arrival in the village, we took our departure from it—turning our faces towards the almost limitless wilderness of the west. I had endeavoured to add to our company but without success. The caravan had cleared Van Buren of its unemployed population; and not an idler remained—at least not one who felt inclined to adventure with us. Even the needy “loafer” could not be induced to try the trip—deeming ours too dangerous an expedition. To say the least, it was reckless enough; but impelled by motives far more powerful than the thirst of gold, my comrade and I entered upon our journey with scarce a thought about its perils. The only addition to our company was a brace of stout pack-mules, that carried our provisions and otherimpedimenta; while the old horse of the hunter had been replaced by a more promising roadster.

It would be idle to detail the incidents of a journey across the prairies. Ours differed in no way from hundreds of others that have been made, and described—except, perhaps, that after reaching the buffalo range, we travelled more by night than by day. We adopted this precaution simply to save our scalps—and along with them our lives—since the buffalo range—especially upon the Arkansas—is peculiarly the “stamping” ground of the hostile savage. Here may be encountered the Pawnee and Comanche, the Kiowa and Cheyenne, the Waco and fierce Arapaho. Though continually engaged in internecine strife among themselves, all six tribes are equally enemies to the pale-faced intruders on their domain. At this time they were said to be especially hostile—having been irritated by some late encounters with parties, of ill-behaved emigrants. It was not without great peril, therefore, that we were passing through their territory; and what we had heard, before leaving Van Buren, had made us fully conscious of the risk we were running.

To meet with one of the hunting or war-parties of these Indians, might not be certain death; but certain they would be to disarm anddismountus; and that, in the midst of the great prairie ocean, is a danger that often conducts to the samedénouement. It was not preference, then, but precaution, that led us to adopt the “secret system” of travelling by night. Our usual plan was to lie by during the day or for the greater part of it, concealed in some selected cover—either among rocks or copsewood. By stealing to a conspicuous eminence, we were enabled to view the route ahead of us, and map out our journey for the night. Upon this we would enter an hour or two before sundown: for then the Indian hunter has returned to his encampment, which can be easily avoided, by seeing its smoke from afar. We often saw their smokes, and more than once the Indians themselves; but were never seen by them—so cautiously did we carry out our measures.

In this fashion we “groped” our way with considerable rapidity. Guided by the waggon tracks—especially when there was a moon—we could travel almost as fast as by daylight. Only upon dark nights was our progress retarded; but, notwithstanding every impediment, we were enabled to travel faster than the caravan, and we knew that we were rapidly gaining upon it. We could tell this by the constantly freshening trail; but we had a more accurate criterion inthe count of the camps. By the number of these, we knew to a certainty that we were approaching the caravan. We were in high hopes of being able to come up with it, before it should enter the mountain-passes—more dangerous to the traveller than even the plains themselves: because at that season more beset by bands of marauding savages. Under the influence of these hopes, we were pressing forward, with all the haste it was in our power to make; when our journey was varied by an incident of a somewhat unexpected character.

Chapter Forty One.An un-prairie-like Apparition.The incident referred to occurred high up the Arkansas, at the celebrated grove known as the “Big Timbers.” We had started about two hours before sundown, and were riding in a due westerly direction, over a “rolling” prairie—the ridges of which, as ill-luck would have it, ran transversely to our course: causing the path to be constantly going upward or downward. It was not this that troubled us; but the fact that, as we crested each swell, we were freshly exposed to observation from a distance; and this recurring so often, kept us continuously on the alert.Once or twice, we thought of halting again till after the sun had gone down: for we knew that we were treading upon dangerous ground; but, failing to perceive any fresh Indian sign, we gave way to our irresolution, and continued on. We proceeded with caution, however: always ascending in stealthy silence, and peeping carefully over the ridges before crossing them. After reconnoitring the intervening valleys, we would ride rapidly across, to make up the time we had lost in our reconnoissance. In this way we had travelled some eight or ten miles—until the sun was so far down, that his lower limb rested on the horizon. We were ascending a ridge, and had got our eyes on a level with its crest, when upon the face of another ridge—about half a mile further on—we beheld two forms outlined against the declivity. We saw that they were human forms; and that they were Indians was our first thought; but a moment’s observation convinced us we were in error. They were afoot—Indians would have been on horseback. There was no floating drapery about their bodies—Indians would have had something of this sort; besides there were other circumstances observable in their figures and movements, that negatived the supposition of their being red-skins. They were singularly disproportioned in size: one appearing at least a foot the taller, while the shorter man had twice this advantage in girth!“What, in Old Nick’s name, kin they be?” inquired my companion—though only in soliloquy, for he saw that I was as much puzzled as himself. “Kin ye make ’em out wi’ your glass, capt’n?” I chanced to have a small pocket-telescope. Adopting the suggestion, I drew it forth, and levelled it. In another instant, I had within its field of vision a tableau that astonished me.The figures composing it were but two—a very tall man, and a very short one. Both were dressed in round-about jackets and trousers. One, the shorter, had a little dark cap upon his head; while the height of the taller man was increased full ten inches, by what appeared to be a black silk or beaver hat. The cut of their respective costumes was nearly the same; but the colour was entirely different—the tall personage being all over of a bottle-green tint, while his shorter companion shone more conspicuously in sky-blue. Notwithstanding their vivid colours, neither costume had anything Indian about it: nor was it like any other sort of “rig” that one might expect to encounter upon the prairies. What fashion it was, did not occur to me at the moment; for the sun, glancing upon the object-glass of the telescope, hindered me from having a fair view. Moreover, my attention was less directed to the dress of the men, than to their movements. The backs of both were towards us; and they were going forward in the same direction as ourselves. The tall man was in the lead, carrying what appeared to be two guns—one over his left shoulder, and another in his right hand. He was advancing in slow irregular strides, his thin body slightly stooped forward, and his long neck craned out in front of him as if trying to look over the ridge, whose crest he was just approaching. The short man was some half-dozen paces in the rear; and moving in a fashion altogether different. His body was bent against the hill at an angle of less than forty-five degrees with the horizon; and his short stout legs were playing in rapid steps, as if keeping time to a treadmill! He appeared to be pushing something before him; but what it was, I could not guess: since it was completely covered by the disc of his body spread broadly against the hill. It was not till he had reached the summit, and made a slight turn along the ridge, that I saw what this object was. The exclamation of ludicrous surprise, that escaped my companion, told me that he had also made it out. “Good gosh, capt’n!” cried he, “look yander! Consarn my skin! ef ’t ain’t awheelberra!” A wheelbarrow it certainly was: for the two men were now traversing along the top of the ridge, and their bodies from head to foot, were conspicuously outlined against the sky. There was no mistaking the character of the object in the hands of the shorter individual—a barrow beyond the shadow of a doubt—trundle and trams, box, body, and spoke-wheel complete!The sight of this homely object, in the midst of the savage prairies, was as ludicrous as unexpected; and we might have hailed it with roars of laughter, had prudence permitted such an indecorous exhibition. As it was, my companionchuckledso loudly, that I was compelled to caution him. Whether my caution came too late, and that the laughter was heard, we could not tell; but at that moment the tall pedestrian looked back, and we saw that he had discovered us. Making a rapid sign to his companion, he bounded off like a startled deer; and, after a plunge or two, disappeared behind the ridge—followed in full run by the man with the wheelbarrow! One might have supposed that the fright would have led to the abandonment of the barrow. But no: it was taken along—hurried out of our sight in an instant—and in the next, both man and machine disappeared as suddenly as if some trap had admitted them into the bowels of the earth! The singular fashion of their flight—the long strides taken by the gander-like leader, and the scrambling attempt at escape made by the barrow-man—produced a most comic effect. I was no longer able to restrain myself, but joined my companion in loud and repeated peals of laughter.In this merry mood, and without any apprehension of danger, we advanced towards the spot where the odd figures had been seen. Some broken ground delayed us; and as half a mile of it had to be passed over, we were a considerable time in reaching the summit of the hill. On arriving there, and looking over the swell, behind which they had disappeared, neither tall nor short man was to be seen. A timbered valley lay beyond: into this they had evidently escaped. The track of the wheelbarrow, where it had pressed down the grass, alone indicated their recent presence upon the spot—as it did also the direction they had taken. Their retreating from us was easily accounted for: they could have seen only the tops of our heads, and had no doubt taken us for Indians!

The incident referred to occurred high up the Arkansas, at the celebrated grove known as the “Big Timbers.” We had started about two hours before sundown, and were riding in a due westerly direction, over a “rolling” prairie—the ridges of which, as ill-luck would have it, ran transversely to our course: causing the path to be constantly going upward or downward. It was not this that troubled us; but the fact that, as we crested each swell, we were freshly exposed to observation from a distance; and this recurring so often, kept us continuously on the alert.

Once or twice, we thought of halting again till after the sun had gone down: for we knew that we were treading upon dangerous ground; but, failing to perceive any fresh Indian sign, we gave way to our irresolution, and continued on. We proceeded with caution, however: always ascending in stealthy silence, and peeping carefully over the ridges before crossing them. After reconnoitring the intervening valleys, we would ride rapidly across, to make up the time we had lost in our reconnoissance. In this way we had travelled some eight or ten miles—until the sun was so far down, that his lower limb rested on the horizon. We were ascending a ridge, and had got our eyes on a level with its crest, when upon the face of another ridge—about half a mile further on—we beheld two forms outlined against the declivity. We saw that they were human forms; and that they were Indians was our first thought; but a moment’s observation convinced us we were in error. They were afoot—Indians would have been on horseback. There was no floating drapery about their bodies—Indians would have had something of this sort; besides there were other circumstances observable in their figures and movements, that negatived the supposition of their being red-skins. They were singularly disproportioned in size: one appearing at least a foot the taller, while the shorter man had twice this advantage in girth!

“What, in Old Nick’s name, kin they be?” inquired my companion—though only in soliloquy, for he saw that I was as much puzzled as himself. “Kin ye make ’em out wi’ your glass, capt’n?” I chanced to have a small pocket-telescope. Adopting the suggestion, I drew it forth, and levelled it. In another instant, I had within its field of vision a tableau that astonished me.

The figures composing it were but two—a very tall man, and a very short one. Both were dressed in round-about jackets and trousers. One, the shorter, had a little dark cap upon his head; while the height of the taller man was increased full ten inches, by what appeared to be a black silk or beaver hat. The cut of their respective costumes was nearly the same; but the colour was entirely different—the tall personage being all over of a bottle-green tint, while his shorter companion shone more conspicuously in sky-blue. Notwithstanding their vivid colours, neither costume had anything Indian about it: nor was it like any other sort of “rig” that one might expect to encounter upon the prairies. What fashion it was, did not occur to me at the moment; for the sun, glancing upon the object-glass of the telescope, hindered me from having a fair view. Moreover, my attention was less directed to the dress of the men, than to their movements. The backs of both were towards us; and they were going forward in the same direction as ourselves. The tall man was in the lead, carrying what appeared to be two guns—one over his left shoulder, and another in his right hand. He was advancing in slow irregular strides, his thin body slightly stooped forward, and his long neck craned out in front of him as if trying to look over the ridge, whose crest he was just approaching. The short man was some half-dozen paces in the rear; and moving in a fashion altogether different. His body was bent against the hill at an angle of less than forty-five degrees with the horizon; and his short stout legs were playing in rapid steps, as if keeping time to a treadmill! He appeared to be pushing something before him; but what it was, I could not guess: since it was completely covered by the disc of his body spread broadly against the hill. It was not till he had reached the summit, and made a slight turn along the ridge, that I saw what this object was. The exclamation of ludicrous surprise, that escaped my companion, told me that he had also made it out. “Good gosh, capt’n!” cried he, “look yander! Consarn my skin! ef ’t ain’t awheelberra!” A wheelbarrow it certainly was: for the two men were now traversing along the top of the ridge, and their bodies from head to foot, were conspicuously outlined against the sky. There was no mistaking the character of the object in the hands of the shorter individual—a barrow beyond the shadow of a doubt—trundle and trams, box, body, and spoke-wheel complete!

The sight of this homely object, in the midst of the savage prairies, was as ludicrous as unexpected; and we might have hailed it with roars of laughter, had prudence permitted such an indecorous exhibition. As it was, my companionchuckledso loudly, that I was compelled to caution him. Whether my caution came too late, and that the laughter was heard, we could not tell; but at that moment the tall pedestrian looked back, and we saw that he had discovered us. Making a rapid sign to his companion, he bounded off like a startled deer; and, after a plunge or two, disappeared behind the ridge—followed in full run by the man with the wheelbarrow! One might have supposed that the fright would have led to the abandonment of the barrow. But no: it was taken along—hurried out of our sight in an instant—and in the next, both man and machine disappeared as suddenly as if some trap had admitted them into the bowels of the earth! The singular fashion of their flight—the long strides taken by the gander-like leader, and the scrambling attempt at escape made by the barrow-man—produced a most comic effect. I was no longer able to restrain myself, but joined my companion in loud and repeated peals of laughter.

In this merry mood, and without any apprehension of danger, we advanced towards the spot where the odd figures had been seen. Some broken ground delayed us; and as half a mile of it had to be passed over, we were a considerable time in reaching the summit of the hill. On arriving there, and looking over the swell, behind which they had disappeared, neither tall nor short man was to be seen. A timbered valley lay beyond: into this they had evidently escaped. The track of the wheelbarrow, where it had pressed down the grass, alone indicated their recent presence upon the spot—as it did also the direction they had taken. Their retreating from us was easily accounted for: they could have seen only the tops of our heads, and had no doubt taken us for Indians!

Chapter Forty Two.A Foot of thirteen Inches.The presence of the wheelbarrow explained a point that had been puzzling us for some days. We had fallen upon its track more than once, and supposed it to have been made by the wheel of a cart; but in no instance being able to find the corresponding one, had given it up as a hopeless enigma. The only explanation we had succeeded in offering ourselves was: that some light cart had accompanied the caravan—the load of which, being badly balanced, had thrown the weight upon one wheel, allowing the other to pass over the ground without making an impression. As it was only on dry grass we had traced it, this explanation had sufficed—though far from being satisfactory. Neither my companion nor myself ever thought of a wheelbarrow. Who would, in such a place?“In the name o’ Old Nick, who kin they be?” asked Wingrove, as we halted on the ridge, where the fugitives had been last seen. “I’m not without my suspicions,” I replied, just then thinking of a peculiarity that had but slightly occupied my attention—the cut and colour of their dresses. “If I am not mistaken, the two shy birds that have fled from us are a brace of uncle Sam’s eagles.”“Sojers?”“In all probability, and ‘old sojers’ at that.”“But what ’ud sojers be a doin’ out hyar?”“Travelling to California, like ourselves.”“Desarters, may be?”“Just what I suspect. No doubt the pair have slipped off from some of the frontier posts; and having no opportunity to provide themselves with a better means of transport, have brought the wheelbarrow with them. It is ludicrous enough, but by no means improbable. There are some queer customers in the service of Uncle Sam.”“I think there be—ha, ha, ha! What shed we do, capt’n? Hedn’t we better catch up to ’em?”“That, comrade, may be easier said than done. If they’re deserters—and they must be, if they’re soldiers at all—they’ll take precious good care not to let any one come near them, if they can help it. The escort that accompanies the train will account for their not being along with it. If they’ve caught a glimpse of my buttons, they’ll becachedby this time.”“They only seed our heads. I reck’n they tuk us for Injuns?”“In that case, they’ll hide from us all the same—only a little more cunningly.”“Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war as cunnin’ as a kupple o’ possums, they can’t a hide the track o’ the berra; an’ so long’s they keep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck’n I ain’t quite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies—consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt’n! it diz one good to look at ’em!”The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was a real forest that was before us—a large tract covered with gigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name of forest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarely appeared there. The sight of the “Big Timbers” recalled to him the forests of his own Tennessee—with happy memories of other times. They were not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the change that came stealing over his features.“We must try to overtake them,” said I, without answering to the ebullition. “It is important for us to come up with them. Even if they be deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. They muster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, they know how to handle them. We must follow them: there’s no time to be lost.”“Ye’re right thar, capt’n! The night’s a comin’ down fast. It’s a’ready gettin’ dark; an’ I’m afeerd it’ll be tough trackin’ under the timber. If we’re to catch up wi’ them the night, we hain’t a minnit to spare.”“Let us forward then!”Crossing the ridge, we descended rapidly on the other side—the track of the wheel guiding us in a direct line to the nearest point of the woods. We could tell that the barrow had been trundled down the hill at top speed—by the manner in which the iron tire had abraded the surface of the slope. We had no difficulty in following the trace as far as the edge of the timber, and for some distance into it: but there, to our great surprise, the wheel-track abruptly ended! It was not that we had lost it by its having passed over dry or rocky ground. On the contrary, around the spot where it so suddenly disappeared, the surface was comparatively soft; and even an empty barrow would have made an impression sufficiently traceable, either by my companion or myself.After beating about for some time, and extending our circle to the distance of a hundred yards or so, we failed to recover the sign. Certainly the barrow had not gone farther—at all events, not upon its trundle. Instinctively, we turned our eyes upward—not with any superstitious belief that the fugitives had made a sudden ascent into the air. But the idea had occurred to us, that they might have hidden themselves in a tree, and drawn the barrow up into it. A single glance was sufficient to satisfy us that this conjecture was erroneous. The thin foliage of the cotton-woods offered no cover. A squirrel could hardly have concealed itself among their branches.“I’ve got it!” exclaimed the hunter, once more seeking along the surface. “Hyar’s thar tracks; tho’ thar ain’t no signs of the berra. I see how they’ve blinded us. By gosh! thar a kupple o’ cunnin’ old coons, whosomever they be.”“How have they managed it?”“Tuk up the machine on thar shoulders, an’ toted it thataway! See! thar’s thar own tracks! They’ve gone out hyar—atween these two trees.”“Right, comrade—that appears to be the way they’ve done it. Sure enough there is the direction they have taken.”“Well! ef I wan’t bothered wi’ these hyar animals, I ked follow them tracks easy enough. We’d soon kum upon the wheel agin, I reck’n: they ain’t a-goin’ to travel fur, wi’ a hump like thet on thar shoulders.”“No; it’s not likely.”“Wal, then, capt’n, s’pose we leave our critters hyar, an’ take arter ’em afut? We kin quarter the groun’ a good bit ahead; an I guess we’ll eyther kum on them or thar berra afore long.”I agreed to this proposal; and, after securing our four quadrupeds to trees, we started off into the depth of the woods. Only for a short distance were we able to make out the footsteps of the men: for they had chosen the dry sward to walk upon. In one place, where the path was bare of grass, their tracks were distinctly outlined; and a minute examination of them assured me of the correctness of my conjecture—that we were trailing a brace of runaways from a military post. There was no mistaking the print of the “regulation” shoe. Its shape was impressed upon my memory as plainly as in the earth before my eyes; and it required no quartermaster to recognise the low, ill-rounded heel and flat pegged soles. I identified them at a glance; and saw, moreover, that the feet of both the fugitives were encased in the same cheapchaussure. Only in size did the tracks differ; and in this so widely, that the smaller was little more than two-thirds the length of the larger one! The latter was remarkable for size—not so much in its breadth as length, which last was not less than thirteen standard inches!On noting this peculiarity, my companion uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Thar’s a fut, an’ no mistake!” cried he. “I reck’n ’twar Long-legs as made them tracks. Well! ef I hedn’t seed the man hisself, I’d a swore thar war giants in these parts!”I made no reply, though far more astonished than he. My astonishment sprang from a different source; and was mixed up in my mind with some old memories.I remembered the foot!

The presence of the wheelbarrow explained a point that had been puzzling us for some days. We had fallen upon its track more than once, and supposed it to have been made by the wheel of a cart; but in no instance being able to find the corresponding one, had given it up as a hopeless enigma. The only explanation we had succeeded in offering ourselves was: that some light cart had accompanied the caravan—the load of which, being badly balanced, had thrown the weight upon one wheel, allowing the other to pass over the ground without making an impression. As it was only on dry grass we had traced it, this explanation had sufficed—though far from being satisfactory. Neither my companion nor myself ever thought of a wheelbarrow. Who would, in such a place?

“In the name o’ Old Nick, who kin they be?” asked Wingrove, as we halted on the ridge, where the fugitives had been last seen. “I’m not without my suspicions,” I replied, just then thinking of a peculiarity that had but slightly occupied my attention—the cut and colour of their dresses. “If I am not mistaken, the two shy birds that have fled from us are a brace of uncle Sam’s eagles.”

“Sojers?”

“In all probability, and ‘old sojers’ at that.”

“But what ’ud sojers be a doin’ out hyar?”

“Travelling to California, like ourselves.”

“Desarters, may be?”

“Just what I suspect. No doubt the pair have slipped off from some of the frontier posts; and having no opportunity to provide themselves with a better means of transport, have brought the wheelbarrow with them. It is ludicrous enough, but by no means improbable. There are some queer customers in the service of Uncle Sam.”

“I think there be—ha, ha, ha! What shed we do, capt’n? Hedn’t we better catch up to ’em?”

“That, comrade, may be easier said than done. If they’re deserters—and they must be, if they’re soldiers at all—they’ll take precious good care not to let any one come near them, if they can help it. The escort that accompanies the train will account for their not being along with it. If they’ve caught a glimpse of my buttons, they’ll becachedby this time.”

“They only seed our heads. I reck’n they tuk us for Injuns?”

“In that case, they’ll hide from us all the same—only a little more cunningly.”

“Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war as cunnin’ as a kupple o’ possums, they can’t a hide the track o’ the berra; an’ so long’s they keep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck’n I ain’t quite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies—consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt’n! it diz one good to look at ’em!”

The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was a real forest that was before us—a large tract covered with gigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name of forest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarely appeared there. The sight of the “Big Timbers” recalled to him the forests of his own Tennessee—with happy memories of other times. They were not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the change that came stealing over his features.

“We must try to overtake them,” said I, without answering to the ebullition. “It is important for us to come up with them. Even if they be deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. They muster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, they know how to handle them. We must follow them: there’s no time to be lost.”

“Ye’re right thar, capt’n! The night’s a comin’ down fast. It’s a’ready gettin’ dark; an’ I’m afeerd it’ll be tough trackin’ under the timber. If we’re to catch up wi’ them the night, we hain’t a minnit to spare.”

“Let us forward then!”

Crossing the ridge, we descended rapidly on the other side—the track of the wheel guiding us in a direct line to the nearest point of the woods. We could tell that the barrow had been trundled down the hill at top speed—by the manner in which the iron tire had abraded the surface of the slope. We had no difficulty in following the trace as far as the edge of the timber, and for some distance into it: but there, to our great surprise, the wheel-track abruptly ended! It was not that we had lost it by its having passed over dry or rocky ground. On the contrary, around the spot where it so suddenly disappeared, the surface was comparatively soft; and even an empty barrow would have made an impression sufficiently traceable, either by my companion or myself.

After beating about for some time, and extending our circle to the distance of a hundred yards or so, we failed to recover the sign. Certainly the barrow had not gone farther—at all events, not upon its trundle. Instinctively, we turned our eyes upward—not with any superstitious belief that the fugitives had made a sudden ascent into the air. But the idea had occurred to us, that they might have hidden themselves in a tree, and drawn the barrow up into it. A single glance was sufficient to satisfy us that this conjecture was erroneous. The thin foliage of the cotton-woods offered no cover. A squirrel could hardly have concealed itself among their branches.

“I’ve got it!” exclaimed the hunter, once more seeking along the surface. “Hyar’s thar tracks; tho’ thar ain’t no signs of the berra. I see how they’ve blinded us. By gosh! thar a kupple o’ cunnin’ old coons, whosomever they be.”

“How have they managed it?”

“Tuk up the machine on thar shoulders, an’ toted it thataway! See! thar’s thar own tracks! They’ve gone out hyar—atween these two trees.”

“Right, comrade—that appears to be the way they’ve done it. Sure enough there is the direction they have taken.”

“Well! ef I wan’t bothered wi’ these hyar animals, I ked follow them tracks easy enough. We’d soon kum upon the wheel agin, I reck’n: they ain’t a-goin’ to travel fur, wi’ a hump like thet on thar shoulders.”

“No; it’s not likely.”

“Wal, then, capt’n, s’pose we leave our critters hyar, an’ take arter ’em afut? We kin quarter the groun’ a good bit ahead; an I guess we’ll eyther kum on them or thar berra afore long.”

I agreed to this proposal; and, after securing our four quadrupeds to trees, we started off into the depth of the woods. Only for a short distance were we able to make out the footsteps of the men: for they had chosen the dry sward to walk upon. In one place, where the path was bare of grass, their tracks were distinctly outlined; and a minute examination of them assured me of the correctness of my conjecture—that we were trailing a brace of runaways from a military post. There was no mistaking the print of the “regulation” shoe. Its shape was impressed upon my memory as plainly as in the earth before my eyes; and it required no quartermaster to recognise the low, ill-rounded heel and flat pegged soles. I identified them at a glance; and saw, moreover, that the feet of both the fugitives were encased in the same cheapchaussure. Only in size did the tracks differ; and in this so widely, that the smaller was little more than two-thirds the length of the larger one! The latter was remarkable for size—not so much in its breadth as length, which last was not less than thirteen standard inches!

On noting this peculiarity, my companion uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Thar’s a fut, an’ no mistake!” cried he. “I reck’n ’twar Long-legs as made them tracks. Well! ef I hedn’t seed the man hisself, I’d a swore thar war giants in these parts!”

I made no reply, though far more astonished than he. My astonishment sprang from a different source; and was mixed up in my mind with some old memories.I remembered the foot!

Chapter Forty Three.Tracking the Trundle.Yes, I had seen that foot before; or one so very like it, that the resemblance was cheating me. This could hardly be. With the exception of its fellow, the foot of which I was thinking could have no counterpart on the prairies: it must be the same? At first, my recollections of it were but vague. I remembered the foot associated with some ludicrous incidents; but what they were, or when and where they had occurred, I could not say. Certainly I had seen it somewhere; but where? No matter: the foot recalled no unpleasant associations. I felt satisfied it was afriendlyone; and was now more anxious than ever of overtaking its sesquipedalian owner.After proceeding a short distance, the shoe-tracks again became too indistinct to be followed farther. By quartering, however, we came upon them once more—at a place where the impressions were deep and clearly defined. Once more the immense foot rose upon theretinaof my memory—this time more vividly—this time enabling me toplaceit: for I now remembered many an odd incident that had secured it a corner on the page of my recollections. Sticking through a stirrup with an enormous Mexican Spur on its heel—its owner mounted on a horse thin and rawboned as himself—I remembered the foot, as well as the limbs and body to which it was attached. Beyond a doubt, the tall fugitive we were following was an old fellow campaigner—a veteran of the “Rifle Rangers!”The figure, as seen through the telescope, confirmed me in the belief. The long limbs, arms, and neck—the thin, angular body—all were characteristics of the bodily architecture of Jephthah Bigelow. I no longer doubted that the taller of the two men was my old follower “Jeph Bigelow,” or “Sure-shot,” as his Ranger comrades had christened him; and appropriate was the designation—for a surer shot than Jeph never looked through the hind-sights of a rifle. Who the little man might turn out to be, I could not guess—though I was not without some recollections of a figure resembling his. I remembered a certain Patrick, who was also a “mimber of the corpse,” and whosebuildbore a close resemblance to that of him seen between the trams of the barrow. My conjecture as to who the men were, increased my desire to overtake them. If the tall man should turn out to be Sure-shot, a rifle would be added to our strength worth a dozen ordinary guns; and, considering the risk we were running—in danger of losing our scalps every hour in the day—it was of no small importance that we should join company with the deserters.We made every exertion, therefore, to come up with them—my comrade employing all the lore of the backwoods, in his effort to recover their traces. The new footmarks we had discovered, though lost the instant after, had served one good purpose. They indicated the general direction which the two men had followed; and this was an important point to be ascertained. We found another index in the trees. These in most places stood thickly together; and it was only here and there that an object of such breadth as a wheelbarrow could passconvenientlybetween their trunks. Carried upon the shoulders, it would be an awkward load with which to squeeze through any tight place; and it was reasonable to conclude that only the more open aisles of the forest would be followed. This enabled us to make pretty sure of the route taken; and, after trusting to such guidance for several hundred yards, we had the satisfaction to light once more upon the shoe-tracks. Again only a short distance were we able to follow them; but they confirmed our belief that we were still on the right trail. My comrade had suggested that the man who carried the barrow “wud soon tire o’ totin’ it:” and this proved to be the case. On striking into an old buffalo-path, our eyes were once more gladdened by the sight of the wheel-track—plainly imprinted in the mud.“Our prospecting” was for the time at an end. The barrow-track continued along the buffalo-path; and we were able to follow it, almost as fast as our legs could carry us. Even after it had grown too dark for us to see the track of the wheel, we were not disconcerted. We could follow it by thefeel—stooping only at intervals to make sure that it was still among our feet. In this way we had travelled, to the full distance of a mile from the place where our horses had been left, when all at once the barrow-track gave out. The buffalo-path continued on; but no barrow had passed over it, unless carried as before. This was improbable, however; and we were forced to the conclusion, that the two men had turned off, by some side-path we had not observed.While looking for this, a sound reached our ears, that resembled the murmur of a distant waterfall; but, listening more attentively, we could distinguish in it a different intonation. We at once moved in the direction whence the noise came; and before we had advanced a hundred yards through the thickly standing trees, we were aware that what we heard was the sound of human voices. Another hundred yards brought us within hearing of words—at the same time that a luminous reflection cast upwards upon the trees, indicated that there was a fire at no great distance off. The underwood hindered us from seeing the fire; but guided by its gleam, we continued to advance. After making another long reach through the leafy cover, we got the fire well under our eyes, as well as those who had kindled it. We had no conjecture as to whether we had been following the true track, or whether it was the two runaway travellers we hadtreed. The point was determined by an object seen standing close to the fire, in the full glare of its ruddy light. Need I say it was the wheelbarrow?

Yes, I had seen that foot before; or one so very like it, that the resemblance was cheating me. This could hardly be. With the exception of its fellow, the foot of which I was thinking could have no counterpart on the prairies: it must be the same? At first, my recollections of it were but vague. I remembered the foot associated with some ludicrous incidents; but what they were, or when and where they had occurred, I could not say. Certainly I had seen it somewhere; but where? No matter: the foot recalled no unpleasant associations. I felt satisfied it was afriendlyone; and was now more anxious than ever of overtaking its sesquipedalian owner.

After proceeding a short distance, the shoe-tracks again became too indistinct to be followed farther. By quartering, however, we came upon them once more—at a place where the impressions were deep and clearly defined. Once more the immense foot rose upon theretinaof my memory—this time more vividly—this time enabling me toplaceit: for I now remembered many an odd incident that had secured it a corner on the page of my recollections. Sticking through a stirrup with an enormous Mexican Spur on its heel—its owner mounted on a horse thin and rawboned as himself—I remembered the foot, as well as the limbs and body to which it was attached. Beyond a doubt, the tall fugitive we were following was an old fellow campaigner—a veteran of the “Rifle Rangers!”

The figure, as seen through the telescope, confirmed me in the belief. The long limbs, arms, and neck—the thin, angular body—all were characteristics of the bodily architecture of Jephthah Bigelow. I no longer doubted that the taller of the two men was my old follower “Jeph Bigelow,” or “Sure-shot,” as his Ranger comrades had christened him; and appropriate was the designation—for a surer shot than Jeph never looked through the hind-sights of a rifle. Who the little man might turn out to be, I could not guess—though I was not without some recollections of a figure resembling his. I remembered a certain Patrick, who was also a “mimber of the corpse,” and whosebuildbore a close resemblance to that of him seen between the trams of the barrow. My conjecture as to who the men were, increased my desire to overtake them. If the tall man should turn out to be Sure-shot, a rifle would be added to our strength worth a dozen ordinary guns; and, considering the risk we were running—in danger of losing our scalps every hour in the day—it was of no small importance that we should join company with the deserters.

We made every exertion, therefore, to come up with them—my comrade employing all the lore of the backwoods, in his effort to recover their traces. The new footmarks we had discovered, though lost the instant after, had served one good purpose. They indicated the general direction which the two men had followed; and this was an important point to be ascertained. We found another index in the trees. These in most places stood thickly together; and it was only here and there that an object of such breadth as a wheelbarrow could passconvenientlybetween their trunks. Carried upon the shoulders, it would be an awkward load with which to squeeze through any tight place; and it was reasonable to conclude that only the more open aisles of the forest would be followed. This enabled us to make pretty sure of the route taken; and, after trusting to such guidance for several hundred yards, we had the satisfaction to light once more upon the shoe-tracks. Again only a short distance were we able to follow them; but they confirmed our belief that we were still on the right trail. My comrade had suggested that the man who carried the barrow “wud soon tire o’ totin’ it:” and this proved to be the case. On striking into an old buffalo-path, our eyes were once more gladdened by the sight of the wheel-track—plainly imprinted in the mud.

“Our prospecting” was for the time at an end. The barrow-track continued along the buffalo-path; and we were able to follow it, almost as fast as our legs could carry us. Even after it had grown too dark for us to see the track of the wheel, we were not disconcerted. We could follow it by thefeel—stooping only at intervals to make sure that it was still among our feet. In this way we had travelled, to the full distance of a mile from the place where our horses had been left, when all at once the barrow-track gave out. The buffalo-path continued on; but no barrow had passed over it, unless carried as before. This was improbable, however; and we were forced to the conclusion, that the two men had turned off, by some side-path we had not observed.

While looking for this, a sound reached our ears, that resembled the murmur of a distant waterfall; but, listening more attentively, we could distinguish in it a different intonation. We at once moved in the direction whence the noise came; and before we had advanced a hundred yards through the thickly standing trees, we were aware that what we heard was the sound of human voices. Another hundred yards brought us within hearing of words—at the same time that a luminous reflection cast upwards upon the trees, indicated that there was a fire at no great distance off. The underwood hindered us from seeing the fire; but guided by its gleam, we continued to advance. After making another long reach through the leafy cover, we got the fire well under our eyes, as well as those who had kindled it. We had no conjecture as to whether we had been following the true track, or whether it was the two runaway travellers we hadtreed. The point was determined by an object seen standing close to the fire, in the full glare of its ruddy light. Need I say it was the wheelbarrow?

Chapter Forty Four.A Brace of “Old Sojers.”Yes, it was the wheelbarrow; and the “U.S. Ordnance” branded upon its side, and visible under the light of the blazing pile, told whence it had come. Either Fort Gibson or Fort Smith was minus a barrow, drawn from their stores by no very formalrequisition. There were the takers of it—one on each side of the fire—presenting as great a contrast as could well be found in two human beings. Although of the same species, the two individuals were as unlike each other as a tall greyhound to a turnspit. Both were seated, though in different attitudes. The little man was “squatted”—that is, with legs crossed under him, after the fashion of tailors. The long legs of hisvis-à-viswould scarcely admit of being thus disposed of; and his weight was resting altogether upon his hips and heels. In this posture, the caps of his knees stood up to the level of his shoulders—so that his body, vieweden profile, presented a pretty accurate imitation of the letter N—that sort termed by engravers the “rustic letter.” The huge black hat capped one extremity; and the long pedal-like feet that rested horizontally on the ground terminated the other, completing the alphabetical resemblance.A face, with a certain mocking monkeyish expression, but without any trait of fierceness or ill-nature—a nose slightly snub—quick scintillating eyes—a chin, tipped with a little tuft of clay-coloured beard—some half-dozen queue-like tangles, of bright-yellowish hair, hanging down behind the hat—the hat itself a black “silk,” badly battered—such were the salient points of the portrait appearing above the knee-caps of the taller man. With the exception of the “tile,” his costume was altogether military—to me well-known. It was the ordinary undress of the mounted rifles: a dark-green round-about of coarse cloth—with a row of small brass buttons from throat to waist—and overalls of the same material. In the particular sample before us,overallswas rather an inappropriate name. The garment so designated scarcely covered the calves of the wearer’s legs—though of these there was not much to cover. The jacket appeared equally scant; and between its bottom border and the waistband of the trousers, there was an interval of at least six inches. In this interval was seen a shirt of true Isabella colour, which also appeared over the breast—the jacket being worn unbuttoned. The frouzy cotton was visible at other places—peeping through various rents both in jacket and trousers. A black leather stock concealed the collar of the shirt—if there was any—and though the stock itself was several inches in depth, there were other several inches of naked neck rising above its rim. Coarse woollen socks, and the cheapcontractshoe completed the costume of Sure-shot—for it was he.His contrasting comrade was equally in military garb—even more so, by the additional article of a cloth forage-cap. His was also an undress uniform; but, though of very similar cut to the other, and resembling it in the quality of the material, the colour was different. It was sky-blue, turned whitey with wear—the buttons of the jacket being of lead, and the facings of white worsted tape. It was a better fit than the green uniform; and its wearer had evidently some conceit in the style of it—as was evidenced by the jacket being carefully buttoned from waist to throat, and the forage-cap set jauntily on “three hairs.” The little man was an “infantry.” His horizontal diameter was twice that of his tall companion of the rifles; and in the rounded contour of his body, not an angle was apparent. His garments were quite filled by his body, arms and legs—so that there was not a wrinkle to be seen anywhere. It was a form usually styled “dapper.” His face was also of the rotund shape—the features all tolerably regular, with the exception of the nose—that, like the nasal organ of his comrade, wasnez retroussé—the turn-up being infinitely more pronounced. The expression was equally indicative of good-nature and good-fellowship—as the apple-like bloom of his cheeks, and the ochreous tinge upon the tip of the nose, sufficiently testified. Cheeks, lips, and chin were beardless—with the exception of a thick stubble that had lately sprung up; but some well-greased rings of a darkish colour ruffing out under the rim of the forage-cap, showed that the “infantry” was not insensible to the pride of hair. Neither in regard to him had I made a mistaken conjecture. Another old acquaintance and comrade-in-arms—the redoubtable Patrick O’Tigg—a true son of the “Sad.”The two worthies, when first seen, were seated as described—both engaged in a very similar occupation—cooking. It was—by the most simple process—that of theroti. Each held in his hand a long sapling, upon the end of which a piece of red meat was impaled; and this, projected over the fire, was fast blackening in the blaze. More of the same meat—buffalo-beef, it appeared—was seen in the wheelbarrow; its other freight being one or two greasy bags, a brace of knapsacks, a cartouche box and belt, two ordnance spades, with the guns—a “regulation” rifle and musket—lying across the top of the load.It was evident from this collection that the men were deserters; that they had armed and equipped themselves at the expense of the quartermaster. Perhaps the paymaster had been in arrears with them; and they had adopted this ready and effectual method of wiping out the score? My only wonder was at not seeing a brace ofbrandedhorses along with them; but in all probability, on the day—or night—of their departure, the stable sentry had been doing his duty.On becoming assured of the identity of the two individuals, my first impulse was to step forward to the fire, and make myself known to them. So eagerly were both engaged in attending to their spits, that they had neither seen nor heard us—although they themselves were now silent, and we were within less than twenty feet of them. The intervening bushes, however would have sheltered us from their sight, even if they had been a little more vigilant—as I should have expected Sure-shot to have been. They were trusting all to the thicket in which they had pitched their camp; and, being hungry and wearied no doubt, were for the moment off their guard. Some fantasy decided me not to disturb them for a moment—a sort of curiosity to hear what they would say, and, if possible, discover theirwhenceandwhither. We were perfectly within earshot; and could have heard even a whisper passing from their lips—as we could also note the expression upon their faces. A sign to my companion was sufficient; and, crouching behind the leafy screen, we awaited the continuation of the suspended dialogue.

Yes, it was the wheelbarrow; and the “U.S. Ordnance” branded upon its side, and visible under the light of the blazing pile, told whence it had come. Either Fort Gibson or Fort Smith was minus a barrow, drawn from their stores by no very formalrequisition. There were the takers of it—one on each side of the fire—presenting as great a contrast as could well be found in two human beings. Although of the same species, the two individuals were as unlike each other as a tall greyhound to a turnspit. Both were seated, though in different attitudes. The little man was “squatted”—that is, with legs crossed under him, after the fashion of tailors. The long legs of hisvis-à-viswould scarcely admit of being thus disposed of; and his weight was resting altogether upon his hips and heels. In this posture, the caps of his knees stood up to the level of his shoulders—so that his body, vieweden profile, presented a pretty accurate imitation of the letter N—that sort termed by engravers the “rustic letter.” The huge black hat capped one extremity; and the long pedal-like feet that rested horizontally on the ground terminated the other, completing the alphabetical resemblance.

A face, with a certain mocking monkeyish expression, but without any trait of fierceness or ill-nature—a nose slightly snub—quick scintillating eyes—a chin, tipped with a little tuft of clay-coloured beard—some half-dozen queue-like tangles, of bright-yellowish hair, hanging down behind the hat—the hat itself a black “silk,” badly battered—such were the salient points of the portrait appearing above the knee-caps of the taller man. With the exception of the “tile,” his costume was altogether military—to me well-known. It was the ordinary undress of the mounted rifles: a dark-green round-about of coarse cloth—with a row of small brass buttons from throat to waist—and overalls of the same material. In the particular sample before us,overallswas rather an inappropriate name. The garment so designated scarcely covered the calves of the wearer’s legs—though of these there was not much to cover. The jacket appeared equally scant; and between its bottom border and the waistband of the trousers, there was an interval of at least six inches. In this interval was seen a shirt of true Isabella colour, which also appeared over the breast—the jacket being worn unbuttoned. The frouzy cotton was visible at other places—peeping through various rents both in jacket and trousers. A black leather stock concealed the collar of the shirt—if there was any—and though the stock itself was several inches in depth, there were other several inches of naked neck rising above its rim. Coarse woollen socks, and the cheapcontractshoe completed the costume of Sure-shot—for it was he.

His contrasting comrade was equally in military garb—even more so, by the additional article of a cloth forage-cap. His was also an undress uniform; but, though of very similar cut to the other, and resembling it in the quality of the material, the colour was different. It was sky-blue, turned whitey with wear—the buttons of the jacket being of lead, and the facings of white worsted tape. It was a better fit than the green uniform; and its wearer had evidently some conceit in the style of it—as was evidenced by the jacket being carefully buttoned from waist to throat, and the forage-cap set jauntily on “three hairs.” The little man was an “infantry.” His horizontal diameter was twice that of his tall companion of the rifles; and in the rounded contour of his body, not an angle was apparent. His garments were quite filled by his body, arms and legs—so that there was not a wrinkle to be seen anywhere. It was a form usually styled “dapper.” His face was also of the rotund shape—the features all tolerably regular, with the exception of the nose—that, like the nasal organ of his comrade, wasnez retroussé—the turn-up being infinitely more pronounced. The expression was equally indicative of good-nature and good-fellowship—as the apple-like bloom of his cheeks, and the ochreous tinge upon the tip of the nose, sufficiently testified. Cheeks, lips, and chin were beardless—with the exception of a thick stubble that had lately sprung up; but some well-greased rings of a darkish colour ruffing out under the rim of the forage-cap, showed that the “infantry” was not insensible to the pride of hair. Neither in regard to him had I made a mistaken conjecture. Another old acquaintance and comrade-in-arms—the redoubtable Patrick O’Tigg—a true son of the “Sad.”

The two worthies, when first seen, were seated as described—both engaged in a very similar occupation—cooking. It was—by the most simple process—that of theroti. Each held in his hand a long sapling, upon the end of which a piece of red meat was impaled; and this, projected over the fire, was fast blackening in the blaze. More of the same meat—buffalo-beef, it appeared—was seen in the wheelbarrow; its other freight being one or two greasy bags, a brace of knapsacks, a cartouche box and belt, two ordnance spades, with the guns—a “regulation” rifle and musket—lying across the top of the load.

It was evident from this collection that the men were deserters; that they had armed and equipped themselves at the expense of the quartermaster. Perhaps the paymaster had been in arrears with them; and they had adopted this ready and effectual method of wiping out the score? My only wonder was at not seeing a brace ofbrandedhorses along with them; but in all probability, on the day—or night—of their departure, the stable sentry had been doing his duty.

On becoming assured of the identity of the two individuals, my first impulse was to step forward to the fire, and make myself known to them. So eagerly were both engaged in attending to their spits, that they had neither seen nor heard us—although they themselves were now silent, and we were within less than twenty feet of them. The intervening bushes, however would have sheltered us from their sight, even if they had been a little more vigilant—as I should have expected Sure-shot to have been. They were trusting all to the thicket in which they had pitched their camp; and, being hungry and wearied no doubt, were for the moment off their guard. Some fantasy decided me not to disturb them for a moment—a sort of curiosity to hear what they would say, and, if possible, discover theirwhenceandwhither. We were perfectly within earshot; and could have heard even a whisper passing from their lips—as we could also note the expression upon their faces. A sign to my companion was sufficient; and, crouching behind the leafy screen, we awaited the continuation of the suspended dialogue.

Back to IndexNext