This unexpected ruse on the part of the retreating savages created chagrin, as well as astonishment. For the moment all felt outwitted—we believed that the enemy was lost—we should be cheated of our revenge. Some even talked of the idleness of carrying the pursuit further. A few counselled us to go back; and it became necessary to appeal to their hatred of the savage foe—with most of them a hereditary passion—and once more to invoke their vengeance.
At this crisis, old Hickman cheered the men with fresh hope. I was glad to hear him speak.
“We can’t get at ’em to-night, boys,” said he, after much talk had been spent; “we dasent cross over this hyar clearin’ by daylight, an’ it’s too big to git roun’ it. It ’ud take a twenty mile ride to circumvent the durned thing. Ne’er a mind! Let us halt hyar till the dark comes on. Then we kin steal across; an’ if me an’ Jim Weatherford don’t scare up the trail on the tother side, then this child never ate allygator. I know they’ll come thegither agin, an’ we’ll be like enough to find the durned varments camped somewhar in a clump. Not seein’ us arter ’em any more, they’ll be feelin’ as safe as a bear in a bee tree—an’ that’s jest the time to take ’em.”
The plan was adopted; and, dismounting from our jaded horses, we awaited the setting of the sun.
There are few situations more trying to the boiling blood and pent-up fury of the pursuer—especially if he have bitter cause for vengeance—than a “check” in the chase; the loss of the trail of course often involves the escape of the foe, and though it may be after a while recovered, yet the delay affords such advantage to the enemy, that every moment serves only to increase the anxiety and whet the fury of the pursuer. This then was my case on the present occasion. While yielding to the advice of the hunter, because I knew it to be the best plan under the circumstances, I nevertheless could scarce control my impatience, or submit to the delay—but felt impelled to hurry forward, and alone and single-handed, if need be, inflict upon the savage miscreants the punishment due to their murderous deeds.
Chapter Seventy Eight.
Crossing the Savanna.
We now suffered the very acme of misery. While riding in hot haste along the trail, there was an excitement, almost continuous, that precluded the possibility of intense reflection, and kept my mind from dwelling too minutely upon the calamity that had befallen me. The prospect of retribution, ever appearing nearer at hand—at every step nearer—all but cancelled my emotions of grief; and motion itself—knowing it to be forward, and towards the object of hatred—had a certain effect in soothing my troubled soul.