“This is a pleasant discovery, Nat.”
“Very.”
“I see no hope for your mare. She is probably a good day’s journey distant, and we do not know what direction to take to reach her.”
“That’s it,” replied Nat, ill-humoredly; “if I knowed sure what way to tramp to find her, I wouldn’t stop till I’d laid my hands on her for a certainty; but this trudging along, and just as like as not going away from her all the time, isn’t the thing.”
“I see no course left then, but to proceed south, in the hope of falling in with some emigrant train, or in striking the Oregon trail, north, and getting into California ahead of them.”
“The Oregon trail will have to be our destination, then. If these fellows find they’ve got the start of us, they won’t give us a chance to come up again, and we might as well try to catch the whirlwind as to follow them. No; we must try the ready for them when they come. How far is the trail off?”
“It can’t be more than a day’s journey; the trail follows the Platte through Nebraska, and I’m pretty sure we can reach it by nightfall, if we proceed pretty steadily and rapidly.”
The day was clear and pleasant, and the sky devoid of the least signs of threatening storm. There were two or three white clouds straggling off in the western horizon, but the sky was of a deep clear blue. We were now proceeding in a northward direction, intending to strike the Platte at the nearest point. South, east, and west the small waving hills of the prairie stretched, unrelieved by the slightest object, except in the west the far-off outline of some mountain-peak was just visible, resembling a slight pointed cloud against the blue sky. This disappeared at noon, and we were again like wanderers upon the illimitable sea. A short time after, Nat’s keen vision detected a number of black, moving specks far to the westward.
“An emigrant train, perhaps,” I suggested.
“They’re Pawnee Injins as sure as the world, and we’d better give them a wide berth.”