It proved not to be so near us as we had anticipated. Pressing forward, as fast as our guides could lift the trail, we followed it for ten miles. We had hoped to find revenge at half the distance.
The Indians either knew that we were after them; or, with their wonted wisdom were marching rapidly under the mere suspicion of a pursuit. After the committal of such horrid atrocities, it was natural for them to suppose they would be pursued.
Evidently they were progressing as fast as we—but not faster; though the sun was broiling hot, sap still oozed from the boughs they had accidentally broken—the mud turned up by their horses’ hoofs, as the guides expressed it, had not yet “crusted over,” and the crushed herbage was wet with its own juice and still procumbent.
To the denizen of the city, accustomed to travel from street to street by the assistance of sign boards at every corner and numbers on every door, it must appear almost incredible that the wild savage, or untutored hunter, can, without guide or compass, unerringly follow, day after day, the track of some equally cunning foe. To the pursuing party every leaf, every twig, every blade of grass is a “sign,” and they read them as plainly as if the route were laid down upon a map. While the pursuing party is thus attentive to detect “sign,” the escaping one is as vigilant to avoid leaving any—and many are the devices resorted to, to efface the trail.
“Jest helf a hour ahead,” remarked old Hickman, as he rose erect after examining the tracks for the twentieth time—“jest helf a hour, dog-darn ’em! I never knowed red skins to travel so fast afore. Thar a streakin’ it like a gang o’ scared bucks, an’ jest ’bout now thar breech clouts are in a purty considerable sweat, an’ some o’ thar duds is stannin at an angle o’ forty-five, I reckon.”
A peal of laughter was the reply to this sally of the guide.
“Not so loud, fellars! not so loud,” said he, interrupting the laughter by an earnest wave of his hand. “By jeroozalim! tha’ll hear ye; an if they do, tha’ll be some o’ us ’ithout scalps afore sundown. For yer lives, boys, keep still as mice—not a word, or we’ll be heern—tha’r as sharp eared as thar own dogs, and, darn me, if I believe thar more’n helf a mile ahead o’ us.”
The guide once more bent himself over the trail, and after a short reconnoissance of the tracks, repeated his last words with more emphasis.
“No, by —! not more’n half a mile—Hush, boys, keep as quiet as possums, an’ I promise ye we’ll tree the varmints in less’n a hour. Hush!”
Obedient to the injunctions, we rode forwards, as silently as it was possible for us to proceed on horseback.