Sharp as was Kidd, Joe reckoned himself to be on a par with him. At least, he rarely acted without forethought, sound, though not long, perhaps. He was patient, preparing in advance the means for carrying out his plans. He had never yet been taken in an unguarded moment. Whenever he had failed, he set down the loss to chance, fate, or whatever name it goes by.
Since too long a time had the faithless lieutenant been planning out to learn what went on in the captain's snuggery when he was closeted in for him not to have a better result, because he profited by previous mischances.
Matters stood as follows this time—
Every time the train started the lieutenant took the advance with a dozen picked men. Not only did they scout and roughly clear a road, but they pushed on to the night camping ground. There they chopped bushes and trees, built fires, or even lit them to warm the ground and drive away vermin, as all small game is called, and put up the tents for Doña Rosario, the women, and the leader. These they carried on led mules, the cloth wrapped round their tools and eatables, so that part of the load was exhausted on the way and at the end of the journey. When the main body came up, it moved into position already traced, and completed the entrenchment with the wagons and loads. A few shanties were knocked together, and that was all. If the pickets had much of a start, they did so much work whilst waiting, that the rest often did not have to delay half an hour before meals.
The first act of the chief was to see if his tent was pitched to suit. If not, he would have the site shifted, and overlook this being done in person; this was of rare occurrence, but it had happened. Though, in the beginning, his men had been curious about the tent, two months' fatigue had blunted the feeling. Besides, what interest had tired men, wet and muddy with fording, in puzzling out matters of no value to them?—To say nothing of Kidd, notably "sudden with his pistol," being always on the lookout. Besides, as he had often reflected, he was sure enough of the relatively devoted nature of the principals of his band. If he had to do with mere inquisitiveness his reasoning would have been correct. Even Paul Pry will get fagged out in the end, but it was not such a paltry nature that was pitted against him.
The Carcajieu had potent grounds for persevering in unearthing his secret. Therefore, he would never stop till that secret lay under his feet, or he was stretched dead upon it.
The captain was ignorant of this, and could not even dream of it. He never once thought of doubting Joe, and conjecturing that he was undermining him like a mole. Surrounding circumstances also forced him to bestow on his second as much trust as lay in so wary a character.
On pushing ahead to the camping place, Joe had set his pioneers to use their axes upon the brushwood, whilst he examined the land.
The position was intelligently selected by Dearborn, healthy and easy to defend. It was an opening "park," in the midst of a thick wood climbing the abrupt foothills of the Rockies. On the right, an uncracked block of stone rose up sheer to an incalculable height, and forefended any attack from that quarter.
Like the broken arch of a natural stone bridge, a huge rock, hollowed out by water in ancient days, covered about a third of the clearing, to the height of a score yards. On the left the mountain sides, well wooded, gently sloped down.