We strove to guide our horses along the softer borders of the path to prevent the thumping of their hoofs. No one spoke above a whisper; and even then there was but little conversation, as each was earnestly gazing forwards, expecting every moment to see the bronzed savages moving before us.
In this way we proceeded for another half mile, without seeing aught of the enemy except their tracks.
A new object, however, now came in view—the clear sky shining through the trunks of the trees. We were all woodsmen enough to know that this indicated an “opening” in the forest.
Most of my companions expressed pleasure at the sight. We had now been riding a long way through the sombre woods—our path often obstructed by slimy and fallen logs, so that a slow pace had been unavoidable. They believed that in the open ground we should move faster; and have a better chance of sighting the pursued.
Some of the older heads, and especially the two guides, were affected differently by the new appearance. Hickman at once gave expression to his chagrin.
“Cuss the clarin,” he exclaimed; “it are a savanner, an’ a big ’un, too—dog-gone the thing—it’ll spoil all.”
“How?” I inquired.
“Ye see, Geordy, if thar a’ready across it, they’ll leave some on t’other side to watch—they’ll be sarten to do that, whether they know we’re arter ’em or not. Wall, what follers? We kin no more cross ’ithout bein’ seen, than a carryvan o’ kaymils. An’ what follers that? Once they’ve sighted us, in coorse they’ll know how to git out o’ our way; judjin’ from the time we’ve been a travellin’—hey! it’s darned near sundown!—I reckon we must be clost to thar big swamp. If they spy us a-comin’ arter, they’ll make strait custrut for thar, and then I know what they’ll do.”
“What?”
“They’ll scatter thar; and ef they do, we might as well go sarchin’ for bird’s-nests in snow time.”