CHAPTER V.
THE HUNTER AND THE MAIDEN.
And still thy mane streams backward
At every thrilling bound,
And still thy measured hoof-stroke
Beats with its morning sound!—Bayard Taylor.
Now he shivers, head and hoof, and the flakes of foam fall off,
And his face grows fierce and thin!
And a look of human woe from his staring eyes did go.
Mrs. Browning.
For once Nat Wolfe was disappointed in his best friend—his long-tried, much-lamented steed, Kit Carson. All the long afternoon he pursued the northerly course which the bison had taken, and which, he knew, led to more fragrant streams and better pasturage. The same moon toward which Elizabeth, riding merrily in the ox-drawn wagon, was looking with such longing eyes, found him still striding on, throwing keen glances in every direction, but without having met a living thing of any kind in his six hours' journey. He was certain that he was on the track of the herd; and, more than that, frequently, before it grew too dark for such observations, he detected the print of horse-shoes here and there along the way. As long as the moon shone he continued to walk; but when it set, there was nothing to do but to eat his dry biscuit, take a draught from his canteen and lie down to sleep with a tuft of grass for a pillow. This he did, still feeling confident that when he awoke it would be to find Kit grazing quietly by his side.
The first rays of the morning roused him. He had slumbered heavily, for he was fatigued; and as he tried to shake off the chill and stiffness of his night's exposure by running swiftly, he remarked to himself:
"Well, I may as well run in the right direction, and that is, toward the point I started from. Poor Kit's gone forever, I fear. I must get back to the trail, in order to follow the route to Denver. I'll have to foot it all the way, unless I overtake some train that'll be willing to sell me some kind of an animal. I wouldn't have taken a thousand dollars for Kit Carson! Confound me if I think the girl was worth it!"
Yet, at the recollection of the maiden in whose behalf he had sacrificed his horse, a sudden warmth thrilled through his veins, very beneficial in dispelling the effects of the night air; he slackened his speed insensibly, forgetting his breakfast for some time in visions of a young, wistful face, with eyes so lustrous and yet melancholy that they made his heart yearn to fill them with smiles instead of tears to which they seemed more accustomed.
"It's a burning shame in that shiftless farmer to be dragging that kind of a child out to Pike's Peak—an infernal hole for men, at the best. She don't feel at home, poor thing, that's evident! Her place is with the ladies of the land—instead of being set down in a shanty among a crowd of rough, swearing miners. She needs a protector, that child does—blast me if she don't." Here a thought rushed through his mind which deepened the flush of his sun-burned cheek. Presently he shook his head, continuing, "No! no! it's too late for that with Nat Wolfe. A man that's been fooled by a woman as I was, would be a double fool to trust one of the kind again."
Coming to a pool of water in a deep gully, Nat refreshed himself with the remains of his dried meat and biscuit, filled his canteen with water, and pushed on. It was noon when he reached Pike's Peak trail—at almost the spot where he left it. There were no travelers in sight.
"I must overtake that train again. It's going my way, and—and—I shan't just feel easy without seeing that girl again. I'm a good match for an ox-team; but when it has at least twenty miles the start, that makes it harder. I'll be likely to be hungry before I reach the next station, if I don't come across a stray buffalo or antelope, and we're about out of their range now. However, it's too early in the day to borrow trouble. I've been fifty hours without food, more than once."