Indeed, the wonder was that they were unmolested at that very moment, for some of the red-skins had passed over that very spot, and how the whites had escaped detection and capture so long was a mystery to Crockett.
"I ain't particular what we do," said he; "I only know we've got to get out of this part of creation."
"Let's go on further, any way," replied the Texan, starting on foot, with Katrina.
"Where ish te cow?" suddenly inquired Bungslager, just after he had laboriously climbed back upon his animal.
"We couldn't bring her very well," replied the Texan; "I think she will wait where she is till we come back."
"Dat is goot ash never vos," replied the contented Hollander; "she wash always a goot cow and shtood shtill, only when she kicked te pail over, and dat wash every time we milked, 'ceptin Sundays, when she kicked te pail and me over bofe."
The young man being thoroughly acquainted with the path, and having fought Comanches before, very properly took the lead, Katrina following close behind him, while Crockett came next, and Hans Bungslager brought up the rear.
In this order they started, and, as the horse of the Dutchman was relieved of his bulky load of furniture, the party progressed at a good pace, and without any unusual clatter or noise.
Stupid, thoughtless and reckless as Hans Bungslager naturally was, with his love for fun and jollity outrunning every thing else, he still had a perception (such as it was) of the danger that menaced them all, and he showed a spasmodic discretion at times.
His little pony, as fat, round and well-preserved as himself, seemed to comprehend the situation, and walked along with a steady, quiet step, that was not heard as often as the quicker and more nervous tread of Crockett's mustang. Hans himself was still, a rather unusual thing for him.