Buffalo Bill was not so sanguine, however. The fire was coming down upon them with terrific speed, for instead of deepening the evening brightened all about them as they rode. The odor of burning wood was now quite pungent, and past them in mad flight went all manner of small animals, while now and then the startled “woof! woof!” of a bear was heard in the brush as he, too, lumbered along.
The paths of the forest were not cleared for riding. Deer and other animals, searching drinking-places and salt-licks, first made these traces through the wilderness. The red man followed, following the spoor of the game. And so the paths became “runways,” sometimes worn knee-deep and only wide enough for a single person to pass. Such paths were of little use to horsemen.
Where the forest was open or clear of underbrush, the two scouts could travel with some rapidity; but in the thick, junglelike scrub, it was even necessary at times to get down and lead their horses. This delayed them, and before long the smoke wraiths began to drift past them and the distant roaring of the flames was perceptible.
Had the men given the horses their heads the animals would have become panic-stricken like the other dumb beasts, and they would have dashed through the forest at a much better pace; but Buffalo Bill and Texas Jack would have been swept from the saddles, and, perhaps, killed. It began to look, indeed, as though both horses and men could get along better and faster alone. Texas remarked upon this fact.
“I know it, Jack—I know it,” said Cody. “But I don’t want to lose Chief. And then, we can’t carry all our plunder and make any time at all.”
“Life’s sweeter to me than either hoss or rifle,” declared Texas, laughing.
“Me, too; but it may be a week before we catch the brutes.”
“I vote we let ’em go. It’s getting derned hard to manage them, anyway, Buffler.”
“So it is. Keep your grub, Texas.”
“Betcher!”