“Desarters, may be?”
“Just what I suspect. No doubt the pair have slipped off from some of the frontier posts; and having no opportunity to provide themselves with a better means of transport, have brought the wheelbarrow with them. It is ludicrous enough, but by no means improbable. There are some queer customers in the service of Uncle Sam.”
“I think there be—ha, ha, ha! What shed we do, capt’n? Hedn’t we better catch up to ’em?”
“That, comrade, may be easier said than done. If they’re deserters—and they must be, if they’re soldiers at all—they’ll take precious good care not to let any one come near them, if they can help it. The escort that accompanies the train will account for their not being along with it. If they’ve caught a glimpse of my buttons, they’ll be cached by this time.”
“They only seed our heads. I reck’n they tuk us for Injuns?”
“In that case, they’ll hide from us all the same—only a little more cunningly.”
“Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war as cunnin’ as a kupple o’ possums, they can’t a hide the track o’ the berra; an’ so long’s they keep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck’n I ain’t quite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies—consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt’n! it diz one good to look at ’em!”
The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was a real forest that was before us—a large tract covered with gigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name of forest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarely appeared there. The sight of the “Big Timbers” recalled to him the forests of his own Tennessee—with happy memories of other times. They were not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the change that came stealing over his features.
“We must try to overtake them,” said I, without answering to the ebullition. “It is important for us to come up with them. Even if they be deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. They muster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, they know how to handle them. We must follow them: there’s no time to be lost.”
“Ye’re right thar, capt’n! The night’s a comin’ down fast. It’s a’ready gettin’ dark; an’ I’m afeerd it’ll be tough trackin’ under the timber. If we’re to catch up wi’ them the night, we hain’t a minnit to spare.”