Last of the animals, though perhaps not least in importance, was Jack’s big, rough-coated, nondescript dog, who had been named Ulysses after the President of the United States, for the reason that, though of a peace-loving nature, he did, when once he got into a squabble, evince a determination to “fight it out on that line if it took all summer.”
Jack’s next care was to provide us each with a rifle and cartridges, a suit of clothes adapted to a life in the wilds, and two pairs of blankets. Then there was the purchase of provisions, consisting mainly of flour and bacon, tea and sugar, and a sack of dried apples; and lastly came the necessary utensils,—a few pots and pans, tin plates and cups, a shovel, a pick, an axe, and the gold-pan; the last-named being a large copper pan with “flaring” sides which Percy and I supposed to be a dish-pan until Jack explained its use.
On the eventful morning that had been fixed upon for the start we were roused from our slumbers by the voice of the ranchman booming up the stairs,—“Roll out, roll out! Half-past five, and breakfast waiting!” and after sundry groans and yawns we bounced out of bed, scrambled into our clothes, and descended to the room below, where a good wash in cold water soon freshened us up.
Breakfast over, the beasts were brought out and we proceeded to pack the mules with our various belongings, or, to speak more correctly, Jack and the ranchman proceeded to pack, while Percy and I looked on; for, being as yet unacquainted with the mysteries of the “diamond hitch,” and all the other arrangements of ropes necessary to the securing of a pack upon a mule, we should only have delayed matters had we attempted to assist.
Under the hands of these two experts, however, the work was accomplished with great celerity. In the course of about half an hour our two stout little mules were loaded with packs weighing something like two hundred pounds apiece, the horses were saddled, and we were ready to start, and after a cordial handshake from our host, the word was given and away we went; Jack first, then the two mules, and Percy and I bringing up the rear.
After riding across country, up hill and down, for a couple of hours, we came upon a rough, little-used wood-road which ran generally in the direction we were going, and taking this road we plodded on until about two o’clock, when, happening to look back, I observed a cloud of dust, in the midst of which was a horseman who appeared to be galloping to overtake us. Our cavalcade came to a halt, and we watched the advancing rider in silence until, much to our surprise, his near approach disclosed the features of George Catlin, our late host.
“Well, boys,” said he, as he pulled up his smoking horse beside us, “you didn’t expect to see me again quite so soon, did you? Phew! It’s hot. We’re in for a thunder-storm directly. And a good thing, too: it will cover up your tracks. Boys, I think there’s someone on your trail,—someone you don’t want to meet.”
“What makes you think that, George?” asked Jack.
“Why,” replied the ranchman, “just before dinner two men came to the house and asked a lot of questions about you: which way you had gone, how long since you had started, whether you were alone, and so on. They seemed to know a good deal about you, but they didn’t get much additional information out of me, because, when I asked them what they wanted to know for, they said that was their business; so I told them that if they couldn’t answer a civil question they might get off the ranch and conduct their business somewhere else—which they did; riding off in the direction of Golconda.”
“But why should you think that we have any reason to be afraid of them?” asked Percy. “What were they like?”