And he did. His immense strides were laughably grotesque, and his appearance, as his tall, lank figure glided over the ground, was ludicrous in the extreme.
Changing occasionally to take turns in walking, and stopping only long enough for dinner, sundown found them in a small wood near the emigrant-trail, and not far east of the pass.
“If they have gone ahead of us, it will be unfortunate,” said Kent, as they wound along through the woods.
“They hain’t,” said Wild Nat, clambering over a huge log, rather than go round it, as Kent was forced to do, being mounted. “From whar ye said they war when ye left ’em, they hain’t more’n got here. Emigrants must allers camp in these woods, ef they git along here anywhar near night, ’cause, ye see, they couldn’t git through the pass by night. No danger but what we’ll find ’em.”
“I dare say they will be surprised to see me, as no doubt they have given me up for lost,” said Kent, his thoughts reverting to Marion Verne, and wondering if she would sorrow if she should never see him again.
“Don’t doubt it,” said Nat. “I rather think— Hark, what’s that?”
Both men stopped and listened attentively. The sun was down, and the forest beginning to grow shadowy. At first they could hear nothing, and then suddenly a slight crashing of brush at a little distance drew their attention. For a moment all was still; then they heard the noise again, this time accompanied with the sound of footsteps, which rapidly approached, and, in another minute, an unmistakable son of Ham, of the darkest type, came in view, tearing along at a two-forty pace, oblivious of them and every thing else, apparently, and muttering away to his familiar spirit, in the very extremity of fear.
“Hello, thar!” shouted Nat, “whar are ye precipitatin’ yerself tew, at thet rate?”
The darkey never looked up, only muttered something unintelligible, and, if possible, increased his gait.
“Hold on, I say,” cried the trapper; “what on airth are ye locomotin’ so fast for? Jest stop a bit!”