“Big trail! heap big trail!”
“Is it fresh?” asked Bill, as they jumped their mounts forward.
“Ugh! heap fresh!”
Sure enough! before them lay a broad, fresh trail, trending to the west. It was, beyond a doubt, the trail of Black Hawk.
The discovery was hailed by the rangers and volunteers with great joy. The nimble Hawk had so long evaded them that he was coming to be regarded as a will-o’-the-wisp, an unearthly creature never to be taken by human hand. But now, with spirits soaring, pursuit was begun on the fresh scent early the following morning; after riders had been sent eastward to acquaint Atkinson with the new turn of events.
The first day of the chase was a difficult one. Not a breath of air stirred over the low-lying swales and gentle rises. Clouds above were like light balls of cotton; and where the blue sky was visible, it had a hazy and languid look. The July sun beat down with a sultry and penetrating heat that was well-nigh past endurance. Sweltering horses hung their heads as they waded fetlock deep through the mud, and the men slouched in the easiest position upon the saddle.
At last, toward evening, black heads of thunder-clouds rose fast above the southern horizon, and the deep muttering of distant thunder began to roll hoarsely over the wilderness. Soon the whole sky was densely shrouded, and the clumps of timber took on a purple hue beneath the inky shadows. Lightning flashed repeatedly. A cool wind, filled with the smell of rain, arose, leveling the tall marsh grass by the side of the trail.
“Come on!” yelled Dodge. “Ride for the timber!”
At this, the whole party broke into full gallop. Dashing pell-mell among the trees, they leaped from their mounts, tore off the saddles, and knelt down and adjusted the hobbles to the horses’ legs, before hastily turning them loose. Then they sprang to the pack-horses and seized their tents, which were put up with the utmost speed. By dint of great effort, they were ready for the downpour, just as the storm broke. Blackness, almost as deep as that of night, enveloped them; and the trees, which were close at hand, were completely hidden by the heavy curtain of falling rain.
All night the tumult kept on, while the rangers crouched in their make-shift tents. The rain could not enter bodily, but it beat through the thin canvas in a fine drizzle that wetted them dismally. Until early morning hours the terrific crash of thunder and the glare of lightning continued. Towards sunrise, however, the storm ceased as suddenly as it had begun. A bright streak of red sky appeared above the eastern verge of the swamps, the horizontal rays of the rising sun streamed through it, and bathed the dripping landscape in a flood of wondrous light.