“Why, my good horse—the best-limbed, swiftest, surest horse on the perarer. None of your mustangs, that, stranger, but a full-blooded cretur, worth his weight in diamonds.”
“I know that; but your business? From what I learned about you, this is not your usual trail.”
“Waal, it hain’t, that’s a fact; but some of the skulkin’ followers of that devil-worshiper, Brigham Young, ukered me out of nigh a hundred head, and I’m not the man to play such games with, sure as you live.”
“Hundred head? What do you mean?”
“Ha! ha! Waal, you must’er come from the tother side of sunrise. Head? Why, cattle, to be sure; but they didn’t steal them, for they knew my rifle had a rayther imperlite way of speakin’ its mind, so they bought them and have forgot to pay.”
“I understand. And now, listen to me. My daughter wandered away from the camp early this morning and has not returned. I fear that—”
“La Moine,” interrupted Waltermyer, somewhat rudely, while the cheerful expression of his face changed into a frown as black as a thunder-cloud, and his entire nature appeared to have assumed a stern purpose, “La Moine, do you remember the red rascals we saw dashing over the perarer like so many frightened wild horses? I told you thar was something wrong—that some traveler had lost his stock or something worse had happened. Which way did the girl take, stranger?”
“There—toward the timber.”
“And some skulkin’, thievin’ savage was lyin’ in ambush for her, I’ll bet a dozen beaver-skins. La Moine, go with—who saw her last—you, man?—well, go with him and see if you can find the trail.” As the Frenchman departed, accompanied by Abel Cummings, he continued: “Ef thar ever was a man that was part hound, had the hearing of a deer and the cunning of a fox, thar he goes;” and he stripped the heavy saddle from his horse, took the bit from his mouth, and allowed him to graze at will.
A half-hour—which appeared very long to the watchers—and the two men returned.