“If we have not already passed it,” said the man. “It is impossible that Frank has kept the trail.”
“He has done his best, father.”
Without replying the man turned away, and in a few moments either slept or had sunk into a stupor.
The stretch of prairie was at last broken to the west by a strip of timber. The oxen turned toward it longingly. Instinct told them that where there were trees there must be water. Even the stolid lad in front quickened his pace, and disappeared in the undergrowth that skirted the edge of the grove. Close following came the oxen.
The woman's face had not changed, but the children's, before so indifferent, now seemed alive with cheerfulness and expectation. Then suddenly they heard the boy give a shout of warning. But all too late, for like a streak of gray light a skulking coyote went flying past. The report of a gun sounded, and one of the sad-eyed oxen breathed a sigh of relief, bowed its knees and then fell gently forward upon its side.
At the sight of this great calamity all else was forgotten. The woman moaned dismally, while the girl looked over her shoulder so stupefied that she paid no attention to the sick man who in querulous tones demanded the cause of the excitement.
This was the scene that presented itself to Private Austin's astonished gaze, when, gun in hand, he emerged from the thicket in the hope of getting another shot at the coyote. He saw the dying ox, the dismayed faces, the tearful eyes, and he wished devoutly from the bottom of his heart that Private Austin, heavily ironed, was again within the walls of the most dismal prison that in his varied life he had ever known.
Approaching slowly he spoke a few words half apologetic, half sullen. He would have been glad to arouse a fury, more easy to meet than their calm despair. Stepping forward he unhitched the remaining ox, and promised a prompt and sufficient recompense for their loss. The night was closing in upon them, the distance to the post was great, they must make their camp where they were, and in the morning he and the boy could go for assistance.
A busy man that night was Private Austin. He brought a smile to the woman's worn face, he caused the children's merry voices to ring out in the darkness as they drew round the camp-fire. His arms gently shifted the sick man from his hard bed in the wagon to one of gathered leaves and grass that was as down to his tired limbs. He made the girl smile and blush and turn away, only to come again. But a change came over him when all was hushed and silent, when he alone kept watch beside the smoldering campfire. Three times he arose and strode off into the night with his face toward the east, and then turned back.
It was well toward morning and the boy Frank lay sleeping beneath the protecting shelter of the wagon-bed, when a heavy hand was placed upon his shoulder and he awoke. Crimson streaks of light told that the day was near. With a finger on his lips as a sign not to disturb the others, Private Austin motioned the lad to follow him.