"They must, if we say so. I, for one, am willing to fight for it. Just think—Duplin said he found nuggets as large as his fist! And hundreds of them, too! Just think, man—why, there's enough to make us the richest men in the United States! They must share—or else we'll take the whole!"
"That'll be the best way," hoarsely added Chicot, now fully yielding to the power of the yellow fiend. "There won't be enough for all—fer we must take another. They're strong men, and will fight fer their—fer our gold. It is ours—it must be ours!"
"Good! but the other—who shall we select?"
"Tim Dooley—I know him well. For gold he would pawn his soul to the devil—and then blarney him out of his pay afterward."
And so it was settled. On the succeeding night the three men, who were standing guard, deserted and took up the back-trail, forgetful of the dangers that threatened the wagon-train in being left without a competent guide. Upshur chuckled with devilish glee as he hoped the worst would befall them.
He had proposed to Lottie Mitchell, and she had rejected him. Her father also had forbidden him ever again addressing his child, under penalty of a thrashing. For this reason, seeing that all hope of success in that direction was gone, he hoped that the entire train might be attacked and destroyed by the Indians or mountain outlaws, that infested the Overland Route, almost from end to end.
Caleb Mitchell was at his wit's end when the truly alarming tidings were generally made known on the morning following Chicot's disappearance. And not without good cause for apprehension, for the train was now fairly in among the mountains, where a deviation from the right trail—at times wholly undiscernible—might well result in total destruction.
As wagon-master, head of the train, only second to the regular guide, he was naturally the one to whom all now looked, when in truth he was no more capable than any other member, except from his great coolness and superior judgment. All were equally ignorant of the trail, since this was the first venture across the plains.
Mitchell's first move was to send in pursuit of the deserters, with orders to bring them in at all hazards, if found. That last clause was well put in, for Paul Chicot had an easy task in that wild, broken region, in blinding his trail, so that all pursuit was useless. And, with so many long hours the start, it was like sending a horse to run down the locomotive.
Long after dark, the different bands straggled in, weary and dejected. Not even a foot-trace had been found to indicate the direction in which the deserters had gone: and now, that faint hope gone, the greater portion of the emigrants gave way to despair.