We had ridden about two hours, when we came upon the ground where the Indians had made their night-camp. We approached it warily and with stealth, for we were now travelling with great caution. We had need. Should a single savage, straggling behind, set eyes upon us, we might as well be seen by the whole band. If discovered upon the war-trail, our lives would not be worth much. Some of us might escape; but even if all of us survived our plan would be completely frustrated.
I say plan, for I had formed one. During the long vigil of the night, my thoughts had not been idle, and a course of action I had traced out, though it was not yet fully developed in my mind. Circumstances might yet alter it, or aid me in its execution.
We approached their night-encampment, then, warily and with stealth. The smoke of its smouldering fires pointed out the place, and warned us from afar.
We found it quite deserted—the gaunt wolf and coyote alone occupying the ground, disputing with each other possession of the hide and bones of a horse—the débris of the Indian breakfast.
Had we not known already, the trappers could have told by the sign of the camp to what tribe the Indians belonged. There were still standing the poles of a tent—only one—doubtless the lodge of the head chief. The poles were temporary ones—saplings cut from the adjacent thicket. They were placed in a circle, and meeting at the top, were tied together with a piece of thong—so that, when covered, the lodge would have exhibited the form of a perfect cone. This we knew was the fashion of the Comanche tent.
“Ef ’t hed ’a been Kickapoo,” said Rube, who took the opportunity of displaying his knowledge, “th’ud ’a bent thur poles in’ard, so’s to make a sort o’ a roun top, d’ee see; an ef ’t hed ’a been Wacoes or Witcheetoes, thu’d ’a left a hole at the top, to let out thur smoke. Delawurs an Shawnee wud ’a hed tents, jest like whites; but thet ur ain’t thur way o’ makin a fire. In a Shawnee fire, the logs ’ud ’a been laid wi’ one eend turned in an the tother turned ut, jest like the star on a Texas flag, or the spokes o’ a wagon-wheel. Likeways Cherokee an Choctaw wud ’a hed reg’lar tents, but thur fire wud ’a been alser diff’rint. They’d ’a sot the logs puralell, side by side, an lit’ em only at one eend, an then pushed ’em up as fast as they burn’d. Thet’s thur way. ’Ee see these hyur logs is sot diff’rint—thur lit in the middle, an thet’s Kimanch for sartint—it ur.”
Rube’s “clairvoyance” extended further. The savages had been astart as early as ourselves. They had decamped about daylight, and were now exactly two hours ahead of us on the trail.
Why were they travelling so rapidly? Not from fear of pursuit by any enemy. The soldiers of Mexico—had these been regarded by them—were too busy with the Saxon foe, and vice versa. They could hardly be expecting as upon an expedition to rob them of their captives. Perhaps they were driving forward to be in time for the great herds of buffalo, that, along with the cold northers, might now be looked for in the higher latitudes of the Comanche range. This was the explanation given by the trappers—most probably the true one.
Under the influence of singular emotions, I rode over the ground. There were other signs besides those of the savage—signs of the plunder with which they were laden—signs of civilisation. There were fragments of broken cups and musical instruments—torn leaves of books—remnants of dresses, silks and velvets—a small satin slipper (the peculiar chaussure of the Mexican manola) side by side with a worn-out mud-stained moccasin—fit emblems of savage and civilised life.
There was no time for speculating on so curious a confusion. I was looking for signs of her—for traces of my betrothed.