We passed on our route clumps of cacti, and thickets of creosote bushes, that emitted their foul odours as we crushed through them. On the fourth evening we camped at a spring, the Ojo de Vaca, lying on the eastern borders of the Llanos.
Over the western section of this great prairie passes the Apache war-trail, running southward into Sonora. Near the trail, and overlooking it, a high mountain rises out of the plain. It is the Pinon.
It was our design to reach this mountain, and “cacher” among the rocks, near a well-known spring, until our enemies should pass; but to effect this we would have to cross the war-trail, and our own tracks would betray us. Here was a difficulty which had not occurred to Seguin. There was no other point except the Pinon from which we could certainly see the enemy on their route and be ourselves hidden. This mountain, then, must be reached; and how were we to effect it without crossing the trail?
After our arrival at Ojo de Vaca, Seguin drew the men together to deliberate on this matter.
“Let us spread,” said a hunter, “and keep wide over the paraira, till we’ve got clar past the Apash trail. They won’t notice a single track hyar and thyar, I reckin.”
“Ay, but they will, though,” rejoined another. “Do ye think an Injun’s a-goin’ to pass a shod horse track ’ithout follerin’ it up? No, siree!”
“We kin muffle the hoofs, as far as that goes,” suggested the first speaker.
“Wagh! That ud only make it worse. I tried that dodge once afore, an’ nearly lost my har for it. He’s a blind Injun kin be fooled that away. ’Twon’t do nohow.”
“They’re not going to be so partickler when they’re on the war-trail, I warrant ye. I don’t see why it shouldn’t do well enough.”
Most of the hunters agreed with the former speaker. The Indians would not fail to notice so many muffled tracks, and suspect there was something in the wind. The idea of “muffling” was therefore abandoned. What next? The trapper Rube, who up to this time had said nothing, now drew the attention of all by abruptly exclaiming, “Pish!”