We lie congratulating ourselves, and watching every movement of their camp. Our hopes continue rising as the day falls.
Ha! there is an unusual stir. Some order has been issued. “Voilà!” “Mira! mira!” “See!” “Look, look!” are the half-whispered ejaculations that break from the hunters as this is observed.
“By the livin’ catamount, thar a-going to mizzle!”
We see the savages pull down the tasajo and tie it in bunches. Then every man runs out for his horse; the pickets are drawn; the animals are led in and watered; they are bridled; the robes are thrown over them and girthed. The warriors pluck up their lances, sling their quivers, seize their shields and bows, and leap lightly upon horseback. The next moment they form with the rapidity of thought, and wheeling in their tracks, ride off in single file, heading to the southward.
The larger band has passed. The smaller, the Navajoes, follow in the same trail. No! The latter has suddenly filed to the left, and is crossing the prairie towards the east, towards the spring of the Ojo de Vaca.
Chapter Twenty Seven.
The Diggers.
Our first impulse was to rush down the ravine, satisfy our thirst at the spring, and our hunger on the half-polished bones that were strewed over the prairie. Prudence, however, restrained us.