“You never heerd tell o’ two sech attacks as them, right tergether, ’thout somebody hed a partic’lar grudge to work out, or objeck to gain. ’Tain’t Injun nature, it ain’t. Most like they’re a gang o’ outcast an’ vaggarbonds as he’s picked up somewhars, to do his dirty work, an’ this ’ere ain’t the fust time, nuther, you mark me. No wonder he’s called an unlucky guide fer the trains,” added Maxwell, significantly; and then he proceeded once more to fill his pipe.
“I had hoped he was not with them, for then I should not feel so uneasy about the result. I think we can beat them off once more, anyhow, and if they were only after plunder, their loss would soon sicken them. But if he is there, I fear the worst,” added Calhoun, thoughtfully.
“Jest so; you talk right to the spot, you do—a’ter my own style. Never did fancy them fellers what jabbered so much ’mongst sech a heep o’ words; ’t stands to reason thar must be some lyin’; an’ I hate a liar like all ge-mently—I do so!”
“It was a sad mistake, our leaving the regular trail,” observed young Ayres.
“As it turns out, yes. But ’twar fer the best, then. Water’s sca’ce on that route this dry weather. We did it fer the best. But why so?”
“Because we might hope for help from some other train. As it is, we’re too far off for them to hear the fuss.”
“Yas; thar ears hain’t long enough. Ketch a lot o’ jack-rabbits an’ chouge ’th ’em. Mules, too. Lord, yas!”
“Why, Maxwell, what do you mean?” and Calhoun gazed anxiously at the old scout, whose eyes appeared fixed intently upon a bright star, while a vacant stare rested upon his countenance.
“Don’t—let him alone, major,” whispered Buenos. “He don’t know he’s talking. I believe he sees some way to fool these devils, and is settling the details.”
And such was indeed the case. The words of Ayers had given a hint to the quick-witted guide, that he was not slow to take hold of. From mere force of habit, his tongue shaped words of which he was unconscious.