“Viva!”
“He’s right, he’s right!”
“Hooraw for old Rube!” and various exclamations, were uttered by the hunters.
“’Tain’t needcessary for them to know why he shud ’a tuk that track. They’ll know his arrows; that’s enuf. By the time they gits back, with their fingers in thur meat-traps, we’ll hev start enough to carry us to Hackensack.”
“Ay, that we will, by gollies!”
“The band,” continued Rube, “needn’t come to the Peenyun spring no howsomever. They kin cross the war-trail higher up to to’rst the Heely, an’ meet us on t’other side o’ the mountain, whur thur’s a grist o’ game, both cattle an’ buffler. A plenty o’ both on the ole mission lands, I’ll be boun’. We’d hev to go thur anyways. Thur’s no hopes o’ meetin’ the buffler this side, arter the splurry them Injuns has gin them.”
“That is true enough,” said Seguin. “We must go round the mountain before we can expect to fall in with the buffalo. The Indian hunt has chased them clean off from the Llanos. Come, then! Let us set about our work at once. We have yet two hours before sunset. What would you do first, Rube? You have given the plan: I will trust to you for the details.”
“Why, in my opeenyun, cap, the fust thing to be did are to send a man as straight as he can gallip to whur the band’s cached. Let him fotch them acrost the trail.”
“Where should they cross, do you think?”
“About twenty mile north o’ hyur thur’s a dry ridge, an’ a good grist o’ loose donicks. If they cross as they oughter, they needn’t make much sign. I kud take a train o’ Bent’s waggons over, that ’ud puzzle deaf Smith to foller ’em. I kud.”