The noon hour came and went. The sun—now veiled by scudding clouds, now shining brightly—began a descent of the western arc of the heavens. The wind rose raw and disagreeable. Black cloud banks began to pile up on the horizon, indicating an approaching snowstorm. The short winter day advanced rapidly.
The topography of the country again changed. The surface of the land grew flatter; open glades appeared here and there in the thick woods. At last Joe stopped and remarked complainingly:
“I’ve gone ’bout as far’s I’m goin’ in one day—I have, by Molly! My feet’s wet an’ cold, an’ I’ve got a crick o’ the rheumatiz in my back, that’s pesterin’ me like the nation. Feels like a swarm o’ hornets had took a roost there. We hain’t got nothin’ to eat, which is purty sad; but we can build a fire an’ rest an’ roast our shins, which ’ll be some sort o’ comfort, anyhow. I’m o’ the ’pinion we’ve throwed the redskins off our track; we hain’t heerd n’r seen nothin’ of ’em sence we broke camp. I’ve purty nigh come to the c’nclusion that you was mistaken, Injin—that you didn’t see no one follerin’ us.”
Bright Wing’s beady eyes flashed.
“Joe heap big fool some more!” he grunted contemptuously. “Bright Wing see Scar Face and many braves. Bad Shawnees and Pottawatomies still on trail. Like hound; no give up and go back. Want scalps bad. Bright Wing go on. Joe stay; build fire; loose scalp. Ugh!”
“An’ a heap you’ll keer, if I git my hair raised,” Farley retorted crossly. “You’re jest like the rest o’ y’r people.”
“Joe!” Douglas interrupted sternly.
“Well, what is it?” was the surly response.
“Once more you are talking idle nonsense. Your tongue will again get you into trouble. You know, as well as I, that Bright Wing has told us the truth. We can’t stop here; we musn’t. Such an act would be the sheerest folly.”