Before he had reached the spot where Garey was still engaged in clearing off the dust, he rose to his feet with an air that told he was satisfied, and turning to his companion, cried out—
“Don’t bother furrer, Bill: it ur jest as I thort; they’ve roped ’im, by Gad!”
Chapter Seventy Four.
The Steed Lazoed.
It was not the emphatic tone in which this announcement was made that produced within me conviction of its truth; I should have been convinced without that. I was better than half prepared for the intelligence thus rudely conveyed; for I was myself not altogether unskilled in that art of which my trapper-companions were masters.
I had observed the sudden convergence of the horse-tracks; I had noticed also, that, after coming together, the animals had proceeded at a slow pace—at a walk. I needed only to perceive the hoof of the steed among the others, to know that he no longer ran free—that he was a captive.
This the tracker had found; hence the decisive declaration that the Indians had “roped” him—in other words, had caught him with their lazoes.
“Sartint they’ve tuk ’im,” asserted Rube, in answer to an interrogatory: “sartint sure; hyur’s his track clur as daylight. He’s been led hyur at the eend o’ a laryette; he’s been nigh the middle o’ the crowd—some in front—some hev been arter ’im—thet’s how they’ve gone past hyur. Wagh!” continued the speaker, once more turning his eyes upon the trail, “thur’s been a good grist on ’em—twunty or more; an ef this child don’t miskalkerlate, thet ain’t the hul o’ the niggurs; it ain’t! ’Tur only some o’ ’em as galliped out to rope the hoss. I’d lay my rifle agin a Mexican blunderbox, thur’s a bigger party than this nigh at hand somewhur hyur. By Geehosophat, thur’s boun to be, sartint as sun-up!”