Chapter Eighty Nine.
The Trapper’s Counsel.
“Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet ’ere ’campmint, an see ef thur ain’t a road leadin inter the very heart o’ it, straight as the tail o’ a skeeart fox. ’Ee see it? eh?”
“Not under kiver?” replied Garey interrogatively.
“Unner kiver—ivery step o’ the way—the best o’ kiver.”
Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of the encampment, and the ground adjacent. We could perceive no cover by which the camp could be approached. Surely there was none.
What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? Had he perceived some portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this?
I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances. Up to the zenith, around the horizon—east, west, north, and south—I looked for clouds, but looked in vain. A few light cirrhi floated high in the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon’s disk, cast no perceptible shadow. On the contrary, they were tokens of settled weather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens, were evidence that no sudden change might be expected. When the trapper talked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant under cover of darkness. What then?