“Yoos bin a-most busted, sar!”
Suddenly the true state of the case flashed upon me. Langour fled. I leaped up, and scrambled somehow into the saddle.
“Have I been long insensible, Salamander?” I asked, as we resumed our headlong pace.
“On’y what time I kin count twinty, sar.”
Rejoiced to find that no longer time had been lost, I galloped along contentedly, and in silence, though with a rather confused feeling in my brain, and a sensation of being possessed of six noses rolled into one.
Although no one, as I have said, seemed to lead the party when we started, I soon found that Big Otter was really our chief. He rode ahead of us, and more than once pulled up to dismount and examine the trail. On these occasions the rest of the party halted without orders, and awaited his decision. Once we were completely thrown off the scent. The fugitives had taken to a wooded tract of country, and it required our utmost caution not to lose the trail.
Presently we came to a small stream and crossed it, but the trail ended abruptly here. We were not surprised, being well aware of the common Indian device of wading in a stream, which holds no footprints, so as to throw pursuers out. Dividing our force, one party went up stream, the other down, but although eager, sharp, and practised eyes examined the banks, they could not discover the spot where the fugitives had again taken to dry land. Returning to the place where we had divided, Big Otter again examined the trail with minute care, going down on his knees to turn over the blades of grass and examine the footprints.
“Strange,” said I, impatiently, “that so simple a device should baffle us.”
As I spoke, the chief arose, and, dark though it was, I could see a gleam of intelligence on his swarthy visage.
“Attick thinks he is wise,” he said, in a low voice, “but he has no more brains than a rabbit. He was from childhood an idiot.”