“Now, lookee hyur, young fellur! I ain’t no doctur, neyther’s Bill, but I knows enough about wownds to be sartint thet you must lay still, an stop talkin. Yur mighty bad scratched, I tell ye, but yur not dangerous, only you’ve got no blood in yur body, an you must wait till it gathers agin. Take another suck out o’ the gourd. Thur now, come, Billee! leave ’im alone. Le’s go an hev a fresh toothfull o’ bar-meat.”
And so saying, the leathery figure moved off in the direction of the fire, followed by his younger companion.
Although I was anxious to have a further explanation about the other points that puzzled me—about the steed, the trappers’ own presence, their knowledge of my wild hunt, and its antecedents—I knew it would be useless to question Old Rube any further after what he had said; I was compelled, therefore, to follow his advice, and remain quiet.
Chapter Twenty Six.
Vows of Vengeance.
I soon fell asleep again, and this time slept long and profoundly.
It was after nightfall,—in fact, near midnight, when I awoke. The air had grown chilly, but I found I had not been neglected; my serape was wrapped closely around me, and with a buffalo-robe, had sufficiently protected me from the cold while I slept.
On awaking, I felt much better and stronger. I looked around for my companions. The fire had gone out—no doubt intentionally extinguished, lest its glare amid the darkness might attract the eye of some roving Indian. The night was a clear one, though moonless; but the heaven was spangled with its sparkling worlds, and the starlight enabled me to make out the forms of the two trappers and the group of browsing horses. Of the former, one only was asleep; the other sat upright, keeping guard over the camp. He was motionless as a statue: but the small spark gleaming like a glowworm from the bowl of his tobacco pipe, gave token of his wakefulness. Dim as the light was, I could distinguish the upright form to be that of the earless trapper. It was Garey who was sleeping.