I had a reason for not mingling in it. If I joined them in their counsels, they might not express their convictions so freely, and I was desirous of knowing what they truly thought. By keeping close behind them, I could hear all—myself unnoticed under the cloud of dust that ascended around us. On the soft ashes, the hoof-stroke was scarcely audible—our horses gliding along in a sweeping silent walk.
“By Gosh! then,” said Garey, “if Injuns fired the parairy, they must ’a done it to wind’ard, an we’re travellin’ right in the teeth o’ the wind; we’re goin in a ugly direction, Rube; what do you think o’ ’t, old hoss?”
“Jest what you sez, boyee—a cussed ugly direckshun—durnation’d ugly.”
“It ain’t many hours since the fire begun, an the redskins won’t be far from t’other side, I reckon. If the hoss-trail leads us right on them, we’ll be in a fix, old boy.”
“Ay,” replied Rube, in a low but significant drawl; “ef it do, an ef this niggur don’t a miskalkerlate, it will lead right on ’em, plum straight custrut into thur camp.”
I started on hearing this. I could no longer remain silent; but brushing rapidly forward to the side of the trapper, in hasty phrase demanded his meaning.
“Jest what ’ee’ve heern me say, young fellur,” was his reply.
“You think that there are Indians ahead? that the horse has gone to their camp?”
“No, not gone thur; nor kin I say for sartint thur ur Injuns ahead; though it looks mighty like. Thur’s nuthin else to guv reezun for the fire—nuthin as Bill or me kin think o’; an ef thur be Injuns, then I don’t think the hoss hez gone to thur camp, but I do kalkerlate it’s mighty like he’s been tuk thur: thet’s what I thinks, young fellur.”
“You mean that the Indians have captured him?”