“Come, Jim Weatherford,” he said, addressing himself to his hunter comrade, “you come along—we’ll see whether it be Indyuns or stumps thet’s gin these fellows sech a dog-goned scare.”
Weatherford, anticipating the request, had already dropped to the ground; and the two having secured their horses, rifle in hand, slunk silently off into the bushes.
The rest of the party, gathering still more closely together, remained in their saddles to await the result.
There was but slight trial upon their patience; for the two pioneers were scarce out of sight, when we heard their voices ringing together in loud peals of laughter.
This encouraged us to advance. Where there was so much merriment there could be but little danger; and, without waiting for the return of the scouts, we rode forwards, directing our course by their continued cachinnations.
An opening brought both of them into view; Weatherford was gazing downwards, as if examining some tracks; while Hickman, who saw us coming up, stood with extended arm, pointing toward the straggling woods that lay beyond.
We turned our eyes in the direction indicated. We observed a number of half-wild, horned cattle, that, startled by the trampling of our troops, were scampering off among the trees.
“Now,” cried the hunter, triumphantly; “thar’s yur Indyuns! Ain’t they a savage consarn? Ha! ha! ha!”
Every one joined in the laugh except those who had given the false alarm.
“I know’d thar war no Indyuns,” continued the alligator-hunter. “That ain’t the way they’ll make thar appearance. Yu’ll hear ’em afore you sees ’em; an’ jest one word o’ advice to you greenhorns—as don’t know a red Indyun from a red cow—let somebody as diz know, go in the devance, an’ the rest o’ ye keep well togither; or I’ll stake high on’t thet some o’ yez ’ll sleep the night ’ithout har on yur heads.”