With Axe and Rifle

by William Henry Giles Kingston

We dismounted, and Dio took our reins, while we made our way to the top of the bluff. Looking back we could see the train about half a mile off, slowly following in our tracks. Beyond us, to the southward, the country appeared much more level than that we had lately passed over, while, greatly to our satisfaction, the river widened out considerably, the ground sloping down gradually on both sides to the water.

“That part looks fordable at all events,” said the Dominie, pointing it out to me. “If we cannot get across in any other way, we must make rafts of the waggons and send a small part of their cargoes over at a time. The undertaking can be easily performed, provided the Indians keep at a distance, but it would be awkward to be attacked while engaged in the operation.”

“We will hope for the best,” I answered; “but we will take a look round the country, and we may perhaps discover them, should any be moving about in the distance.”

We swept our glasses round and round the horizon several times. Once I thought that I caught sight of a party of Indians moving rapidly over the ground, but what I saw proved to be a herd of antelopes. We observed also several buffaloes, which made us wish that we had time to go and hunt them, for a fat cow would have been welcome. The idea however of going in chase of them was not to be thought of, considering the risk we should run of falling in with Indians who might be on the watch for us. Still tolerably satisfied that no enemies were within a distance of several miles, we descended the hill and pushed on to that part of the river which appeared likely to afford us a passage. On reaching it, Dio exclaimed—

“Me tink me get ’cross, me go in an’ try; if too deep, me swim like one fish!”

Without waiting for permission, he dashed forward. We watched him anxiously: at first the water reached scarcely above his horse’s knees, but as he advanced it grew deeper and deeper, and presently, to our disappointment, we saw the animal swimming, while Dio, who threw himself from its back, struck out with one hand, while he guided it across with the other. The horse quickly regained its feet, and after wading for forty or fifty yards, stepped again on dry ground. Dio immediately mounted, and pointing down the stream, made signs to us that he would recross in that direction; we rode along the bank, very doubtful, however, whether a fordable spot could be found. Once more Dio rode into the stream, and we watched him anxiously as the water rose higher and higher up his horse’s legs. Still the animal walked on, though in the centre the water reached nearly to the girths, soon after however gradually diminishing in depth. There could be no doubt, if the ground was hard, that the waggons could be got over. On this point Dio gave a favourable report, and we, both riding in, crossed at some distance from each other over even ground. Mr Tidey sent Dio back to report our discovery to my father, while we rode backwards and forwards several times to assure ourselves that the ford was of ample width to allow not only one waggon but two or three to cross abreast if necessary; by the time the leading waggon arrived we had thoroughly surveyed the ford, and it at once began to descend the slope to the water’s edge. Scarcely had the oxens’ feet entered the stream, when Tim Casey came riding up, sent by Uncle Denis from the rear, to say that he made out some horsemen in the far distance, who, he much feared, were Indians.

“We shall have time to cross and form our camp on the opposite side, before they can reach us,” answered my father. “Tell Mr O’Dwyer to hurry on the rearmost waggons; but keep cool, my lads; there is no cause for alarm; for should there be no other ford in the neighbourhood, the savages cannot cross to attack us on the other side, and we can easily defend ourselves against any number of assailants.”

While Mr Tidey and Dio forded the river, to form the waggons as they got over, my father and I remained to direct the passage. As they arrived one after the other, he ordered them to push across without a moment’s delay. I saw that he frequently cast a glance in the direction in which, from the report sent by Uncle Denis, we expected the Indians to appear. He retained several of the men not absolutely required to attend the waggons. The two last had got down to the brink of the river, when Uncle Denis, who had remained some distance in the rear, came galloping up.

“The Indians are approaching,” he exclaimed; “they will be here before the waggons are across.”

“Push on then, my lads,” said my father to the drivers; “we are ready for them, and if they venture near, they will have to mourn the loss of some of their braves.”