"You talk like an Injin orator, Mr. Cormick," said Sol Garrod; "if ever we are put in the wrong box—ha, ha!—I shall let you conduct my defence!"
"Come on, Miss," said Niobraska Pete; "in the meantime, them's the two wust-eddicated brutes in the band, and no average specimen idiots!"
They had three horses in hiding, and the 'capture' was lifted upon one behind Cormick, whom she was obliged to enclasp, spite of her loathing, to save herself from falling. They rattled off at a good pace as long as the soil was bare and stony. They soon had to traverse one of those narrow vales between a couple of rocky "divides," which are commonly halved themselves by a more or less broad ribbon of water, and which terminate in a basin, a series of steps, or a "cutoff." The riders were about to scramble down the ravine which yawned, in this case, to appal less venturesome cavaliers, when Cormick ordered a pulling up.
"I want to look ahead, that's all," he said; "maybe, it's a fool feeling; but we have been trotting along a leetle too smoothly for Injin country, and too much quiet I reckon suspicious."
"Some joke o'your'n, to let our coffee and corn cakes git cold!" sneered Pete.
"Say what you like; but let's have one of you scout up that hole."
"Very good, Cormick," said Garrod, tranquilly; "it's my turn. I'll bring you back the nigger's top feather!"
"With his hair, too, my boy; but caution; caution never costs too much, and it's a wise man that wakes up tomorrow morning, as the Spanish say."
"Oh, dry up, Cormick," cried Sol, impatiently reining in, after starting. "Do you railly think the red devils would browse so near our camp?"
"Not I, my lad; only I repeat, you cannot poke the bushes with too much prudence."