“It’s so,” said the trapper, gravely. “Ye see, Scip, in the hot countries they grow bigger. I’ve seen ’em quite often as big as young turkeys, an’ skeeters the size of woodpeckers warn’t nothin’ uncommon!”
Scip said no more, but became very serious.
“Let’s roll up an’ snooze,” said Vic. “I’m gittin’ sleepy, an’ we must be off airly. The Injuns will be arter the lady, an’ we’ll stan’ a chance of gittin’ rubbed out ef we don’t make tracks lively. S’pose we’ll have tew go tew the cave for the present, an’ lay low till thar animosity cools off a little, ’fore startin’ for civilization.”
“How far is it to the cave you speak of?” asked Marion.
“’Bout fifteen miles,” replied Vic.
And then they lapsed into slumber.
Morning broke bright and clear, and the little party were off for the cave in good season. There was no immediate danger apprehended, and they rode at a moderate pace, enjoying the fresh breeze and the exhilarating influence of the ride. When about ten miles from their rendezvous, they perceived a large herd of buffalo quietly feeding about a mile distant.
“I’d like some sport with ’em,” said Wild Nat. “It’s tew bad tew let sich a chance as thet go. But we’ll have tew, I opine. ’Twon’t do tew keep the little ’un here an’ have her in danger of Injuns.” And the trapper gazed after the herd with a sigh.
“Tell ye what I’ll dew,” said Vic, halting his horse. “I’ll take Marion to the cave, an’ ye can all stay an’ hunt ef ye like. ’Twould be a good plan tew hev some fresh meat. What say?”
“E-pluribus,” exclaimed Wild Nat; “jist the show! Kent, ye jist hand Marion tew Vic, an’ in about tew jerks of a beaver’s tail we’ll snatch some o’ them bufflers by the tail, an’ pull thar skins off over thar horns.”