Before the flying horseman vanished in the distance, the emigrant train resumed its slow progress. The massive guide, on the back of his gaunt steed, kept his place well in advance. Often he went for hours without looking back to note in what order the company were following him, but now he had turned like Alden did a few minutes before, and, without checking his steed or shifting his course, was gazing fixedly to the rear. His brierwood was between his lips, and from the thicket of whisker and mustache the blue vapor issued as if from the funnel of a small steamcraft.
At the moment the two youths looked at him, he raised one of his huge hands and beckoned.
“His eyes are on us,” said Alden.
“He’s looking at me,” added Jethro; “he feels bad at de way he snubbed me jest arter we started, and means to apolergize; he don’t want you; notice now. Gee up, Jilk!”
The negro twitched the rein, and his pony struck a moderate trot. He had not crossed a fourth of the intervening distance, when the guide thundered:
“NO! I don’t want ye, ye black imp! Stay whar ye are! Young Payne is the chap I meant; why don’t ye come when I tell ye to come?”
The laughing youth spoke to his mare, and hurried forward.
“Wal, if he ain’t the mos’ umbrageous rapscallion dat eber trod on two legs,” growled Jethro as his friend passed him, hurrying to answer Shagbark’s call.
Acquainted by this time with the moods of the old trapper, Alden did not speak as he drew up beside him, but waited to learn what he had in mind.
“I want ye to keep with me a while,” remarked Shagbark, who had checked his animal and now resumed his progress on a walk; “I’ve something to say to ye.”