“An’ then thur’s the mowstanger mixed in wi’ it, an that shindy ’beout which she tolt me herself; an the sham Injuns, an the Mexikin shemale wi’ the har upon her lip; an the hossman ’ithout a head, an hell knows what beside! Geesus Geehosofat! it ’ud puzzle the brain pan o’ a Looeyville lawyer!
“Wal—there’s no time to stan’ speklatin’ hyur. Wi’ this bit o’ iron to assiss me, I may chance upon somethin’ thet’ll gie a clue to a part o’ the bloody bizness, ef not to the hul o’ it; an fust, as to the direcshun in which I shed steer?”
He looked round, as if in search of some one to answer the interrogatory.
“It air no use beginnin’ neer the Fort or the town. The groun’ abeout both on ’em air paddled wi’ hoss tracks like a cattle pen. I’d best strike out into the purayra at onst, an take a track crossways o’ the Rio Grande route. By doin’ thet I may fluke on the futmark I’m in search o’. Yes—ye-es! thet’s the most sensiblest idee.”
As if fully satisfied on this score, he took up his bridle-rein, muttered some words to his mare, and commenced moving off along the edge of the chapparal.
Having advanced about a mile in the direction of the Nueces river, he abruptly changed his course; but with a coolness that told of a predetermined purpose.
It was now nearly due west, and at right angles to the different trails going towards the Rio Grande.
There was a simultaneous change in his bearing—in the expression of his features—and his attitude in the saddle. No longer looking listlessly around, he sate stooping forward, his eye carefully scanning the sward, over a wide space on both sides of the path he was pursuing.
He had ridden about a mile in the new direction, when something seen upon the ground caused him to start, and simultaneously pull upon the bridle-rein.
Nothing loth, the “critter” came to a stand; Zeb, at the same time, flinging himself out of the saddle.