In vain Mitchell strove to cheer them up. He said that it was only a matter of time and patience; that before long some other train must come along which they could join. But the answer came, quick and crushing, because it was the one that was chilling his own heart.
It was late in the season. Their train, drawn wholly by oxen, had been long upon the road, and the halt at the "sick-camp" had still further delayed them. They might be the last train on the road—very probably were, since the mountains of California could not be crossed after winter set in. A train might not come along until the spring—and that would be too late. How many of the party could live through a winter in the mountains? The looked-for train would only find their bones.
Harassed by such arguments and fears as these, Caleb Mitchell resolved upon a bold course, and yet apparently the only one that was left them. He would make the attempt to guide the train through the mountains himself, at least until they could gain a spot more favorable for a winter's residence than here, if worst came to worst.
Fearing to lose more precious time, long before daybreak the next day, the wagon-train was slowly following the lead of Caleb Mitchell, who rode in advance, his heart troubled with fears and doubts, for behind him was the sole remaining tie that made life dear to him, and its fate in a great measure depended upon his skill and prudence.
Several hours later, as he saw the crest of a rocky hill, over which the trail led, he abruptly reined in his horse and gazed keenly across the valley before him. He had distinguished the slowly-moving form of human beings, evidently afoot, and the hope that these were the returning deserters set his heart afire.
But all too soon this delusion was dispelled, for he now could distinguish the flowing drapery of a woman. Anxiously enough he awaited their approach, but as they paused on discovering his figure outlined against the clear sky, he impatiently rode forward. He could now see that there were only two, and the formation of the trail forbid the supposition of an ambush being possible there.
As he approached them, the man stood before the woman, with drawn and leveled pistol, a look of stern despair imprinted upon his worn but handsome features. His voice rung with the desperation of a hunted fugitive turned at bay, as he spoke:
"Keep your distance—we will not be taken alive."
"What do you mean? Who's trying to take you alive—or dead either, for that matter?" ejaculated Mitchell, surprised at the man's tone and action.
"Then you don't—you're not one of those from whom we escaped? You haven't been chasing us?" doubtfully added the stranger.