“’Tis hard to read, that’s a fact,” Sergeant Meek said. “But it leads somewheres, and like as not to the Red River that the cap’n’s looking for, in Comanche country. Anyhow, we’ve done all we can, for to-day; and it’s time we went back down and reported.”
“Sure, he’ll have no excuse for takin’ us through betwixt them high cliffs,” declared Alex Roy. “We’d be drowneded, hosses an’ all. ’Tis a tough-lookin’ hole, with no end in sight, an’ the rocks covered with ice.”
“Come on, boys,” bade the sergeant, “or we’ll be late for supper.”
They turned and marched back, down river, to camp. This evening the lieutenant talked the report over with the doctor. They decided to proceed up the river, to the dry valley, and follow the trail.
The dry valley, below where the river gushed out of the break in the cliff barrier, was reached in one day’s march. Camp was made in it at night-fall. This, according to the doctor, was the evening of the tenth day of December. The horses were watered with melted snow, and given one pint of precious corn, each, brought this far from the Osage and the Republican Pawnee towns. For the camp there was plenty of deer meat, killed on the way, and one buffalo. It was to be the last big meal, through some days.
The Spanish trail had been weak, upon entering the valley. The lieutenant had rather feared that the sign was only that of a small scouting party. But farther in it had strengthened. Now at the camp it appeared to be a fairly well-trodden road, leading on northwest and probably over the next range of hills.
“The road to the Red River—hooray!” cheered Tom Dougherty. “Then down the Red River we’ll go, out o’ this cruel cowld, an’ belike we’ll be to Natchitoches an’ the blessed war-rmth o’ Louisiany long before spring.”
XI
SEEKING THE LOST RIVER
“It’s no use to march farther on this line, doctor.”