CHAPTER II.
MOOROOINE.
About an hour previous to the events last described, a number of rangers were grouped around a fire, near the termination of a deep forest gorge. A small stream ran through the gorge, finding an outlet at the shores of the lake, about two miles away. At their backs rose an almost perpendicular cliff a hundred feet in hight, covered with dense foliage. The banks of the gorge, opposite, were comparatively low, and supported huge trees, whose branches, shooting far out, rendered the place gloomy even at midday.
A better hiding-place, or bivouac, for a posse of rangers, could not well have been chosen. An enemy might pass within thirty yards of the place, and be none the wiser, so far as sight or hearing is concerned. On the contrary, those within, looking outward from comparative darkness, could quickly discover the presence of interlopers, and withstand attack or make a good retreat, as policy might require.
The rangers had not been at this bivouac long. In groups of two, they had been watching the forest in different directions. They had returned, according to previous arrangement, and were now partaking heartily of rich venison-stew broiled on the bed of coals in their midst. They had assured themselves that no Indians were lurking near, before kindling the fire; yet the smoke from the hard, dry wood, became invisible ere it reached the top of the interlaced branches above them.
Little need be said in description of these men. They were the main body of scouts mentioned in the preceding chapter, and Scarred Eagle was their acknowledged leader. They were all hardy-looking fellows, well-armed, and of various ages, of uncouth appearance, rough in speech, but with nerves of steel; ready to face danger at any moment, and not loth to indulge in the pastime of a wrestling-match, or knock-down among themselves, in the absence of more exciting events.
“Seems ter me Brom, as yer call ’im, orter showed hisself afore now ef ’e ain’t got took,” remarked one of them, a tall, coarse-looking fellow in homespun.
“I dun know, Hulet,” replied one of his companions, clearing his throat. “It’s a dangerous job he ondertook—gittin’ to the fort when it’s compissed by so many Injuns. But ’e ain’t had time. A day for twenty miles’ travel, an’ all on’t to be stole over, ain’t too long, I reckon.”
“I know it’s dangerous. But he’s be’n gone more’n a day. He started three hours afore this time yisterday.”
“An’ s’posin’ ’e did?” broke in another, of Celtic origin. “Is dthat a sign he’s tuk? How dthe deuce are you or me to know dthe crooks an’ turns he’s had to make? Uv wan thing I’m certain, Brum w’u’dn’t cair for y’ur advice, nor woon’t thank yees for y’ur unaisiness. So ye needn’t be ov dthe first to wurry.”
Hulet deigned no answer to the Irishman, but resumed conversation with the ranger first addressed.