I needed not to inquire the consequences, should Rube’s prediction prove correct; that was evident to all of us. The moon once obscured by clouds, our progress would be arrested: even a horse could not be tracked in the darkness.
We were not long in suspense. Again the foresight of the old trapper proved unerring. Cumuli rolled up the sky one after another, until their black masses shrouded the moon. At first, they came only in detached clouds, and there was light at intervals; but these were only the advanced columns of a heavier body, that soon after appeared; and without a break, spread itself pall-like over the firmament.
The moon’s disc became entirely hidden from our view; her scattered beams died out; and the prairie lay dark as if shadowed by an eclipse.
We could follow the trail no farther. The ground itself was not visible, much less the hoof-prints we had been tracing; and halting simultaneously, we drew our horses togther, and sat in our saddles to deliberate upon what was best to be done.
The consultation was a short one. They who formed that little party were all men of prairie or backwoods experience, and well versed in the ways of the wilderness. It took them but little time to decide what course should be followed; and they were unanimous in their opinion. Should the sky continue clouded, we must give up the pursuit till morning, or adopt the only alternative—follow the trail by torchlight.
Of course the latter was determined upon. It was yet early in the night; many hours must intervene before we should have the light of day. I could not live through those long hours without action. Even though our progress might be slow, the knowledge that we were advancing would help to stifle the painfulness of reflection.
“A torch! a torch!”
Where was such a thing to be procured? We had with us no material with which to make one; there was no timber near! We were in the middle of a naked prairie. The universal mesquite—the algar obia glandulosa—excellent for such a purpose—grew nowhere in the neighbourhood. Who was to find the torch? Even Rube’s ingenuity could not make one out of nothing.
”Écoutez, mon capitaine!” cried Le Blanc, an old voyageur—”écoutez! vy me no ride back, et von lanterne bring from ze ville Mexicaine?”
True, why not? We were yet but a few miles from the rancheria. The Canadian’s idea was a good one.