“If I was a drinking man,” said he, “I would swear that I had the jim-jams sure. Look out the wagon, Rodman, and tell me whether you see any thing unusual, or different from what we have been accustomed to look upon for the last day or two.”
The young man did as requested, and the exclamation that escaped him convinced the somewhat nervous officer that his head was still level, and his brain was playing no fantastic freak with him.
The sight which greeted their eyes, and so excited their wonder, came first in the shape of a horse, which, walking slowly forward, steadily loomed up to view, until it stood directly on the border of the gulch, where, at a hundred yards distant, and with the clear sunlight bathing him, every outline was distinctly visible.
But it was not the horse, but that which was upon it, that so excited the wonder and speculations of those who saw him. Close scrutiny gave it the appearance of an animal standing upon all-fours upon the back of the horse, like Barnum’s trained goat Alexis. It was, however, three times the size of that sagacious creature, and an Indian blanket was thrown over it, so that little more than the general outlines could be discerned.
This enveloping blanket reached to the neck of the “what is it?” leaving the head entirely exposed. This was round, and bullet-shaped, and moved in that restless, nervous way peculiar to animals. It seemed as black as coal, and resembled the head of one of those giant gorillas which Du Chaillu ran against in the wilds of Central Africa.
A strange chill crept over the two men, as they felt that this animal was looking steadily down upon the encampment, as if meditating a charge upon it, and only waiting to select the most vulnerable point.
The steed supporting this nondescript stood neither directly facing nor broadside toward the whites—but in such a position that their view could not have been better. The horse remained as stationary and motionless as if he were an image carved in bronze.
No other living creature being in sight, the eyes of the little band of defenders in Dead Man’s Gulch were speedily fixed upon this strange phenomenon, and its movements were watched with an intensity of interest which it would be hard to describe.
“It is some Comanche deviltry,” was the remark of Egbert Rodman, after he had surveyed the object for several minutes. “They have grown tired of running against our bullets, and are about to try some other means.”
“But what sort of means is that?” asked the captain, who beyond question was a little nervous over what he saw.