“Stay,” said Hickman, after a few moments had elapsed. “All’s not lost that’s in danger. If I arn’t able to guide ye to the pond, I reckon I’ve got a critter as kin. Kin you, ole hoss?” he continued, addressing himself to the animal he bestrode—a wiry old jade that Hickman had long been master of—“kin you find the water? Gee up, ole beeswax! and let’s see if you kin.”
Giving his “critter” a kick in the ribs, and at the same time full freedom of the bridle, he once more started forwards among the trees.
We all followed as before, building fresh hopes upon the instinct of the animal.
Surely the pride of man ought to be somewhat abased, when he reflects, that he, “the lord of the creation,” is oftentimes foiled in attempts which, by the mere instincts of the lower animals, are of easy accomplishment. What a lesson of humility this ought to teach to the wanton and cruel oppressor of those noble animals, whose strength, and instinct, and endurance, are all made subservient to his comfort. It is in the hour of danger and peril alone, that man realises his dependence upon agencies other than his own lordly will.
We had not proceeded far, when it became known that Hickman’s horse had got scent of the water. His owner alleged that he “smelt” it, and the latter knew this, as well as if it had been one of his hounds taking up the trail of a deer.
The horse actually exhibited signs of such an intelligence. His muzzle was protruded forwards, and now and then he was heard to sniff the air; while, at the same time, he walked forward in a direct line—as if making for some object. Surely he was heading for water. Such was the belief.
It produced a cheering effect, and the men were now advancing in better spirits, when, to their surprise, Hickman suddenly drew up, and halted the line I rode forward to him to inquire the cause. I found him silent and apparently reflective.
“Why have you stopped?” I inquired.
“You must all o’ ye wait here a bit.”
“Why must we?” demanded several, who had pressed along side.