The sand-hills were increasing in number and extent; dusty and dry was the way but nobody could drink, for it was against orders to drink out of the casks, or to fill canteens except once a day. The “dry march” of over fifty miles was beginning, and sometimes water gave out before it was traversed. So every drop must be cherished.
With the hot sun about two hours high the caravan was entering upon a long, rather narrow swale leading between rounded sand-ridges whereon only cactus and a few sprawly weeds grew. Captain Blunt and several other riders were in advance; out upon the right flank, and somewhat in advance rode Lieutenant Dan Matthews and two men, and similarly upon the left flank rode another wagon-train lieutenant. They climbed hill after hill, and ridge after ridge, and surveyed closely the country. As a rear-guard, behind even Oliver, rode a squad of half-a-dozen traders and free-lances. Thus the caravan was apparently well provided against surprise; and as evidently the Kiowas were thought to be near at hand, the rear-guard gave Oliver a more comfortable feeling.
If the train must take care of itself, with those trappers cravenly putting greater store on their own hides than on the purpose for which they had pretended to join, then the more precautions the better.
[II]
UNDER THE WAGON
How quietly wound the train, between the low dun hills! No lashes cracked, no voices shouted, mule, ox and horse steadily plodded, and the only sounds were the subdued words of the teamsters encouraging their animals, and the creaking of the dry wagon-frames. But hark! Right in the midst of this brooding atmosphere drifted down from the hills upon the right a rifle-report; and when Oliver caught sight of the place, here came, full tilt, from flankers’ duty, Dan and his comrades; behind them the smoke of the report was still wafting.
“Injuns!” This was the alarm. Instantly the caravan was again in a frenzy of commotion. Teamsters curled their lashes and sent their mules into a lope, their oxen into a lumbering trot; loud rose a medley of exclamations, orders, rumbling of wheels. From behind little Oliver, who, his heart in his mouth, was shouting at his lazy cavvy, urging them forward (Oh, such a long way must he go!), rode for him the rear-guard.
“Quick! Roust these critters!” they bade, one to another, and helped him. The cavvy was forced into a trot.