In the midst of their deliberations a shout calls the attention of all, concentrating it on Walt Wilder. For it is he who has uttered the cry. The ex-Ranger is seen upon his knees, his great body bent forward, with his chin almost touching the ground. His eyes are upon the hoof-marks of a horse—one of those that went off with the smaller detachment along the river’s bank.
That he has identified the track is evident from the speech succeeding his ejaculation.
“Yur hoss, Hamersley! Hyar’s his futprint, sure. An’, as he’s rud by Urager, the scoundrel’s goed this way to a sartinty. Eqwally sartin, he’s tuk the captives along wi’ him.”
On hearing their old comrade declare his prognosis, the Rangers wheel their horses and ride towards him.
Before reaching the spot where he is still prospecting, they see him give a sudden spring forward, like a frog leaping over meadow sward, then pause again, scrutinising a track.
A second examination, similar to the first, tells of another discovery. In like manner explained, by his speech close following,—
“An’ hyar’s the track o’ the mare—the yeller mustang as war rid by the saynorita. An’, durn me, that’s the hoof-mark o’ the mule as carried my Concheter. Capting Haynes! Kumrades! No use botherin’ ’bout hyar any longer. Them we want to kum up wi’ are goed north ’long this trail as leads by the river bank.”
Not another word is needed. The Rangers, keen of apprehension and quick to arrive at conclusions, at once perceive the justness of those come to by their old comrade. They make no opposition to his proposal to proceed after the smaller party.
Instead, all signify assent; and in ten seconds after they are strung out into a long line, going at a gallop, their horses’ heads turned northward up the right bank of the Rio Pecos.