“They ur,” said Rube, “every one o’ ’em—an Injun hoss-tracks too—sartint they ur.”
“They may be the wild-hosses, Rube?” said one of the rangers, riding up and surveying the sign.
“Wild jackasses!” angrily retorted the old trapper. “Whur did you ever see a wild-hoss? Do ’ee s’pose I’ve turned stone-blind, do ’ee? Stan thur, my mar!” he cried, talking to his mare, flinging his lean carcass out of the saddle at the same time: “stan thur! ’ee knows better than thet fellur, I kin tell by the way yur sniftin’. Keep yur ground a minnit, ole gurl, till Rube Rawlins shew these hyur greenhorns how a mountain man kin read sign—wild-hosses! wagh!”
After thus delivering himself, the trapper dropped upon his knees, placed his lips close to the ground, and commenced blowing at the black ashes.
The others had by this time ridden up, and sat in their saddles watching him. We saw that he was clearing the ashes out of one of the hollows which he had pronounced to be horse-tracks, and which now proved to be so.
“’Thur now, mister!” said he, turning triumphantly, and rather savagely, upon the ranger who had questioned the truth of his conjecture: “thur’s a shod track—shod wi’ parflesh too. Did ’ee ever see a wild-hoss, or a wild mule, or a wild jackass eyther, shod wi’ parflesh? Ef ’ee did, it’s more’n Rube Rawlins ever seed, an thet ur trapper’s been on the hoss-plains well-nigh forty yeern. Wagh!”
Of course, there was no reply to this interrogatory. There was the track; and, dismounting, all examined it in turn.
Sure enough it was the track of a shod horse—shod with parflèche—thick leather made from the hide of the buffalo bull.
We all knew this to be a mode of shoeing practised by the horse-Indians of the plains, and only by them.
The evidence was conclusive: Indians had been upon the ground.