“What must we do now, Tom?” muttered Travers, speaking mechanically; not that he hoped to gain any thing by the reply.
“Do not’ing now—bumbye do somefin. When light come ag’in, we take trail—foller up till fin’ squaw.”
“But do you think we can?”
“Know so—almost. Got eye plenty sharp, Tom. Foller trail in water, ef try hard. Me foller trail—Cap’n ride hoss. Den we git her—go back camp—laugh like de debble, ’cause skeered when squaw git lost.”
“But she may have been carried off?” suggested the soldier, taking the gloomy side of the question as the true one.
“No—don’t t’ink dat. Injun grab her, squaw holler so loud—squeal all some like pant’er. Den we hear, sure. No holler loud—den Injun no take. She git skeered, mebbe, ’cause ’um kill Arapahoe. Don’t know much when skeered. No see straight—t’ink mebbe a frien’ git kill—not bad Injun. Den ’fraid dey git her, too, so run ’way off, plenty fast. Me t’ink dat,” succinctly stated Tom, with the argumentative air of a lawyer summing up his case.
“Do you think so?” eagerly cried Travers. “Then she may be hidden somewhere near here. Surely she could not run far, she was so weak from her fall. If you call, she may hear and answer.”
“You holler, if you like. Me go git horses ’g’in. Don’t like much walk, when kin ride. Plenty better, dat,” grinned the Delaware, who begun descending the hillside toward the captured animals, who had stood still on being left.
Travers acted upon this supposition, making the hills echo with the sound of his voice calling aloud the maiden’s name as clearly as possible. But there came back no answering call.
If the Delaware’s supposition as to Clara’s voluntary flight was true, then she must have run to a great distance, or she could not have failed hearing the cries. At length the soldier ceased in despair. There was nothing for it but to await the coming day before proceeding further.