The fact of our not meeting with any emigrant trains made Maysotta’s report more probable. Of course I felt somewhat anxious about ourselves, for, even although we had a couple of rifles and two muskets, besides our pistols, we might find it a hard matter to drive off any large number of mounted assailants; but I felt far more anxious about the inmates of the farm.
We kept the two men moving ahead of us at such a rate that Barney more than once cried out, “Sure, lieutenant, our bastes will have no wind left in thim at all, at all, if we don’t pull up!”
“Go on, go on,” cried the lieutenant; “do not mind your beasts, as long as they can keep their legs.”
“Thin it’s meself I’d be plading for,” cried Barney, turning round.
“Do not mind yourself either,” answered the lieutenant. “The lives of our friends are at stake, and if we are to help them we must get to the farm without delay.”
Whack, whack, whack went Barney’s stick. The German also urged forward his mustang in the same manner—his feet, from the length of his legs, nearly touching the ground. Indeed, when passing through long grass, his feet were so completely hidden, that, as he kept moving his legs about all the time, it appeared as if he were running along with his horse under him.
At length the mountains which rose above Roaring Water appeared in sight. As we neared them I looked out eagerly from the summit of a ridge we had reached, to ascertain if any Indians were in the neighbourhood; but as none were to be seen, I hoped that we might reach the farm before any attack had been commenced.
As we passed the confines of the property I saw none of our people about; but, as the evening was drawing on, I thought it probable that they had gone home from their work. Still, I felt somewhat anxious; my anxiety being also shared by the lieutenant, who was making his tired beast breast the hill faster than he, as a humane man, would otherwise have done.
As we got close to the house, an Indian started up from behind a copse which grew on the side of the hill. He had neither war-paint nor ornaments on, and looked weary and travel-stained. He was a young, active man; but, at the first glance, I did not like his countenance. A person unaccustomed to Indians cannot easily distinguish one from another, although in reality they vary in appearance as much as white men do; as does also the expression of their countenances.
“Are you going to the farm?” he asked, addressing me. He knew at once by my dress that I was a settler.