“Thort so meself at fust.”
“Thar ain’t no plan o’ gettin’ in yander,” said the young trapper, in a desponding tone.
“The doose thur ain’t! what greenhorn put thet idee inter yur brain-pan, Bill?”
“Wal, thar are a plan; but ’tain’t much o’ a one: we’ve been talkin it over hyar.”
“Le’s hear it,” rejoined Rube, with an exulting chuckle—“le’s hev it, boyee! an quick, Bill, fur time’s dodrotted preecious ’bout now. Wal?”
“It’s jest this, Rube, neyther less nor more: the capt’n proposes to take the Injun’s hoss; and ride straight into thar camp.”
“Straight custrut in, do ’ee?”
“Ov coorse; it ’ud be no use goin about the bush: they kin see him a-comin’ from ony side.”
“I’ll be durned ef they kin—thet I’ll be durned. Wagh! they cudn’t ’a see me—thet they cudn’t, ef ivery niggur o’ ’em hed the eyes o’ an Argoose es hed eyes all over him—thet they cudn’t, Billee.”
“How?” I inquired. “Do you mean to say that it is possible for any one to approach yonder camp without being observed? Is that what you mean, Rube?”