[CHAPTER XIII]
THE LOST TRAIL
Whitey did not have long to wait for the opportunity to put the matter up to Injun, for that individual rode into the ranch-yard within ten minutes after the conversation that had awakened Whitey's curiosity. It took five additional minutes for Whitey to retail to Injun what he had heard, and, as usual, Injun thought gravely over the matter before speaking. In fact, it was Whitey who again broke the silence.
"Injun," he said, "do you think you could find the place where Bill lost the trail of the cattle at the creek, and the place where it looked as though they had stampeded?"
Injun nodded confidently. It must not be imagined that because Injun seldom spoke, or because of his broken English when he did speak, that he could not understand what was said. He could understand any words in ordinary usage, and there was very little in any conversation that "got by" him. He not only comprehended the words, but he had a remarkably well trained ear, and he could catch and distinguish sounds that would have been inaudible to most people. There were times when his dinner, or even his very life, depended on this faculty, and there is nothing like Necessity to develop the faculties.
The same Necessity that had developed Injun's hearing had also developed his sight; and although Whitey supposed that he had as good eyes as anybody, he found, after a time, that Injun could distinguish objects that were all but invisible to him. What was a mere speck in the distance to Whitey, Injun would declare to be a man on horse-back. And by the time that Whitey could recognize this to be true, Injun could tell who the man was.
It is, after all, a matter of training. Probably Whitey's eyes were just as good, in many ways, as Injun's; but they were not trained the same way. For instance: when trailing a man or an animal, Whitey could see the broken twig or the pressed down spear of grass that marked the trail—after Injun had pointed it out to him. But he could not detect it if he went over the ground first. Injun had trained his eyes to observe the most minute things, for those minute things told him a story that meant a great deal to him; and often very small things made big sign-posts to guide or regulate his movements. Possibly Injun, had he seen Whitey read rapidly the page of a book, would have thought Whitey's eyes far more wonderful than his own—and that is only another kind of eye-training. Nature was Injun's book, and, perhaps, just as easy to read as Whitey's book—but it takes different eye-training.
The two boys slipped away from the ranch without attracting notice. This was not unusual, for by this time Whitey had become accustomed to riding long distances, and he and Injun were permitted to go about as they pleased. But up to the present time his wanderings had been confined to the ranch limits.
A mile or so from the ranch Injun broke away from the trail and struck off to the northwest toward the mountains. The branch or creek that Whitey had described lay some seven or eight miles further on, and in the general direction of Ross' ranch; and at the steady clip set by Injun, they made it without much exertion in something less than an hour. The ride was without incident until they were a mile or two from the creek, though still within the confines of the ranch, when the quick eye of Injun detected two horsemen riding in a direction that would bring them across their trail.