“No, her back war torst me, an’ she kep on ’ithout turnin’ or stoppin’ a minnit. ’Twar the very duds that girl used to wear, an’ her bulk to an inch. It kudn’t a been liker her. Darn me, ef ’twan’t eyther her or her ghost!”
“It is very improbable that it could have been either?”
I did not for a moment entertain the idea that it was the Chicasaw he had seen; and yet my comrade was fully impressed with the belief, and reiterated the assertion that he had either seen Su-wa-nee or her “shadder.” Though the thing was improbable, it was not beyond possibility. We knew that there were Indians travelling with the train: we had heard so before starting out. But what likelihood was there of Su-wa-nee being among them? Certainly not much. That there were prairie Indians around us, was probable enough. We had already observed their traces upon the ground of the deserted camp. The “squaw” seen by Wingrove might be one of these.
Whether or not, her presence proved the proximity of red-skins; and the knowledge of having such dangerous neighbours, summoned us to a fresh exercise of vigilance and caution. Our fire was instantly extinguished; and, contenting ourselves with a morsel of the half-broiled buffalo-beef, we moved to some distance from the spot, before proceeding, to cook the antelope. A dark covert in the thick woods offered us a more secure kitchen. There we rekindled our fire—and roasting the ribs of the prong-horn, refreshed ourselves with an ample meal. After an hour’s repose, we resumed our journey—in confident expectation, that before sunset we should get within sight of the caravan.
Chapter Fifty.
Up the Cañon.
We had not ridden far from our halting-place, when we arrived at the end of the great cotton-wood forest. Beyond that, the trace led over open ground—here and there dotted by groves and “islands” of timber. Through these we threaded our way—keeping as much as possible among the trees. Further on, we came upon a gorge—one of the noted cañons through which the Huerfano runs. Here the river sweeps down a narrow channel, with rocky banks that rise on each side into precipitous cliffs of stupendous height.
To avoid this gorge—impassable for wheeled vehicles—the waggon-trace, below its entrance, turns off to the right; and we perceived that the caravan had taken that direction. To get round the heads of the transverse ravines, that run into the cañon, a détour must be made of not less than ten miles in length. Beyond the cañon—the trace once more returns to the stream.