“There is no choice, however,” said the ranger: “we must go on now to the grove; for—at least—we shall be nearer to the Portage there, than here.”
And this was the course resolved upon.
The hour of rest passed slowly away; and, at its end, the captain again gave the word, to mount and follow. There was now no trail to guide them; but their course was due North, and—led by the stars—Edgar once more put himself in the advance, and galloped away. The prairie was as silent as night and a profound calm could make it; and rolling away down the lowlands, and reverberating along the ridges, the sound of their horses’ footsteps seemed like the rumble of an earthquake. The voices of those who spoke sounded hollow and echoless; and the jingling of spurs, and rattling of accoutrements, seemed smothered by the stillness. The men of that time were taciturn and earnest; and the scene through which they were riding was no bad type of their stern characteristics. They were in pursuit of Indian marauders; and hatred of the savage—which was natural to every Western man—gave depth even to their bearing. Each carried his rifle in his right hand; and, while he governed and assisted his horse over the inequalities of the ground with the left, kept his face steadily directed to the front.
They had been riding thus, a little more than two hours, when Edgar suddenly drew up to a walk.
“We must take it slowly now, boys,” said he, turning in the saddle, as his men followed his example; “for, at a gallop, our horses could be heard five miles.”
“Captain,” said White, riding forward, “isn’t that a light yonder, to the north—here, just above the ground?”
“It is, indeed!” exclaimed Edgar; “in the grove, too!”
“Rather too far to the right, isn’t it?” said the ranger.
“We have been following the Pointers,[[7]] and their wheeling to the West must have taken us a little out of our course,” Edgar replied. “It must be in the grove.”
He turned a little to the right as he spoke; and, urging his horse to his swiftest walk, struck directly for the light.