“I believe you, Tom, but I hope there’ll be no call for your doing all that,” laughed Calhoun.
“Wall, jist follow your nose, an’ stop yonder ontil I git back,” and then loosening the tightly drawn rein against which his half-wild mustang was chafing, the grizzled old guide sped swiftly away from the wagon-train.
Once beyond sight of the trail, Maxwell proceeded more slowly and with greater precaution. Veering to the right, so as to embrace as much ground as possible in his contemplated detour, he closely scrutinized the ground for sign, while keeping a wary look-out upon either hand and in front, not caring to run blindfold into an ambush should there in reality prove to be enemies in his vicinity.
He was proceeding thus, when his horse suddenly gave a snort and stood still in his track. Quickly raising his eyes from the ground, the old guide sent a keen glance around him, and then uttered a long, low whistle, as he perceived the evident cause of his animal’s alarm.
Just debouching from the hills, or rather from behind them, was a large body of horsemen, and though at nearly a mile’s distance, he had no hesitation in pronouncing them to be Indians, from the long spears and various trappings, together with their peculiar style of riding. They were to the right, and at the same time a little in his front, being nearly in a direct line with himself and the place where the emigrants intended to camp for the night.
They had evidently observed him, and had paused, as if in irresolution, thus allowing Maxwell a moment for deliberation.
They might be friendly, but he did not believe it, and felt little inclined to cultivate their close acquaintance. Still he did not like to run, for he well knew the truth of the old adage—a fleeing form invites pursuit—and that should he flee, the rogues would assuredly chase him.
Then were they hostile, as he more than suspected, the emigrants would undoubtedly be the sufferers, as they had not yet had time to encamp and corral the wagons, in order of defense. Outnumbered and taken by surprise, they would be massacred without mercy.
Tom Maxwell did not believe that their exact position was known by the Indians, from the unguarded movements of the latter, and resolved to draw them away, if possible, or at least detain them until the emigrants would be better prepared for the meeting.
“Come, Ebenezer,” he muttered, drawing up the reins and settling himself firmly in the deep saddle; “you hain’t any much tired as yit, an’ kin hold your own with these scalawags, for a bit, anyhow. Now you jest git up an’ git!”