[CHAPTER VIII.]
The “Ole Bar’s Hole.”
NEXT morning, after a hasty breakfast, the boys saddled their horses, and, led by the trapper, set out to find the wagon. Now it was that the latter showed the young hunters his extraordinary “travelin’ qualities,” as he expressed it; for as soon as the boys were in their saddles, he shouldered his rifle and started off, at a rapid pace, which he did not slacken at all until they arrived on the banks of a small stream, where they stopped to quench their thirst.
“Now, youngsters,” said the trapper, seating himself on the ground, and wiping his forehead with his coat sleeve, “There’s the place. The Comanche’s camp war pitched jest in the edge of them ar’ willows, an’ right where you see them bushes war where I stood afore I started to run the gauntlet. The chief’s wigwam stood thar then. I tell you, it warn’t healthy fur a feller to go foolin’ ’round here them days.”
The boys gazed long and earnestly at every object the trapper pointed out, and listened to his narration of the various incidents that had transpired during his captivity, until they almost fancied they could see the prairie covered with painted savages, and their guide, in the midst of his foes, awaiting the signal to begin his race for life. Dick, himself, was no less interested, for he sat for a long time feasting his eyes on every familiar object; now and then casting suspicious glances toward the distant willows, as if he almost expected to catch a glimpse of a hostile warrior, or hear the war-whoop which had so often awoke the echoes of those very mountains.
“Wal, youngsters,” said he, at length, “let’s be movin’! I never expected to see the time when I could travel over these ere prairies without bein’ in danger of havin’ my har raised; an’ if you live to be as old as I am, you’ll see the day that ’em city chaps will ride through here on ’em steam railroads; an’ if they see this place, they’ll never dream that such things as I have told you about ever happened here.”
The travelers again set out, Dick leading the way, at a still more rapid pace, and in two hours they arrived at the camp. Mr. Winters and old Bob were lying in the shade of the wagon, and as the boys approached, the former raised himself on his elbow, and inquired:
“Well, boys, how do you like traveling on your own hook? Do you think you could find your way to California without a guide?”
“Oh, they war all right!” exclaimed Dick, leaning his rifle against the wagon, and picking up the antelope skin which Archie had thrown down, and which contained some choice pieces of meat. “They war all right! Me and Useless found ’em down on Muddy Creek, Bob. They had killed this prong-horn, made their camp, an’ war takin’ matters easy like, as though they had never heered tell on a Comanche—the keerless fellers.”