The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

The result might have proved awkward enough; but at that moment I heard voices, and saw mounted men breaking through the underwood. They were Stanfield, Quackenboss, and the rest of the rangers.

In another instant, they were on the ground; and their revolvers, playing rapidly, soon thinned the ranks of the javali, and caused the survivors to retreat grunting and screaming into the thicket.

Chapter Sixty Eight.

The Woods on Fire?

The trappers were not among those who had rescued me – where were they?

The others made answer, though I already guessed what they had to tell. Rube and Garey had followed the tracks of the steed, leaving the rangers to come after me.

I was pleased with the ready intelligence of my comrades: they had acted exactly as they should have done. I was myself found, and I no longer entertained any apprehension that the trail would be lost.

By this time, the trackers must be far upon it; more than an hour had elapsed since they and the others had parted company. My zigzag path had cost my followers many a bewildering pause.

But they had not ridden recklessly as I, and could find their way back. As it was impossible to tell in what direction Rube and Garey had gone, this course was the best to be followed; and under the guidance of Stanfield – an expert woodsman – we rode back towards the prairie.

It was not necessary to retrace our own crooked trail. The Kentuckian had noted the “lay” of the chapparal, and led us out of its labyrinths by an almost direct path.

On reaching the open ground, we made no pause; but upon the tracks of Rube, Garey, and the steed, re-entered the chapparal.

We had no difficulty about our course; it was plainly traced out for us; the trappers had “blazed” it. In most places, the tracks of the three horses were sufficient indices of the route; but there were stretches where the ground was stony, and upon the parched arid herbage, even the shod hoof left no visible mark. In such places, a branch of acacia broken and pendulous, the bent flower-stem of an aloe, or the succulent leaves of the cactus slashed with a sharp knife, were conspicuous and unmistakeable signs; and by the guidance of these we made rapid advance.

We must have gone much faster than the trackers themselves – for notwithstanding the freshness of the trail, there were dry spots and patches of cut rock over which it passed, and where it must have cost them both time and keen perception to trace it.

As we were travelling so much more rapidly than Rube and Garey could have done, I looked forward to our soon overtaking them: with eager anticipation, I looked forward. Surely they would have some news for me, now that they had been so long in the advance? Surely by this time they must have come in sight of the steed? – perhaps captured him? Oh, joyous anticipation!

Or would they return with a different tale? Was I to meet the report that he still hurried on – on for ever? That he had swum some rapid stream? or plunged over a precipice – into some dark abysm?

Though hastening on after the trackers, there were moments when I feared to overtake them – moments when I dreaded to hear their tale!

We had worked our way about five miles through the hideous jungle, when I began to feel a strange sensation in my eyes – a sensation of pain – what is usually termed a “smarting.” I at first attributed it to the want of sleep.

My companions complained that they were affected in a similar manner.

It was not until we had gone some distance farther, that we found the true explanation – on perceiving that there was smoke in the air! Smoke it was that was causing the bitterness in our eyes.

The denizen of the prairie never regards such an indication with indifference. Where there is smoke, there is fire, and where fire, danger – at least upon the broad grassy steppes of the west. A burning forest may be shunned. You may stand near a forest on fire, and contemplate such a scene with safety; but a blazing prairie is a phenomenon of a different character; and it is indeed a rare position where you may view, without peril, this sublime spectacle.

There are prairies that will not burn. The plains covered with the short “buffalo-grass” (sesleria dactyloides), and the sward of various species of “gramma” (chondrosium), rarely take fire; or if they do, horse, man, buffalo, or antelope, can easily escape by leaping across the blaze. ’Tis only the reptile world – snakes, lizards, the toad, and the land-turtle (terrapin) – that fall victims to such a flame.

Not so upon the “weed-prairies,” or those where the tall reed-grass rises above the withers of a horse – its culms matted and laced together by the trailing stems of various species of bindweed, by creeping convolvulus, cucurbitacese, and wild pea-vines. In the dry season, when a fire lays its hold upon vegetation of this character, there is danger indeed – where it rages, there is death.

It was smoke that affected our eyes, causing them to wince and water. Fire must be causing the smoke – what was on fire?

I could detect apprehension in the looks of my followers, as we rode on. It was but slight, for as yet the smoke was scarcely perceptible, and the fire, wherever it was, must be distant – so fancied we.

As we advanced, the glances of the men became more uneasy. Beyond a doubt, the smoke was thickening around us, the sky was fast becoming darker, and the pain in our eyes more acute.

“The woods are on fire,” said Stanfield.

Stanfield was a backwoodsman – his thoughts ran upon “woods.”

Whether forest or prairie, a conflagration was certainly raging. It might be far off – for the wind will carry the smoke of a prairie fire a long distance – but I had an unpleasant suspicion that it was not distant. I noticed dropping around us the white floe of burnt leaves, and from the intense bitterness of the smoke, I reasoned that it could not have floated far – its gases were not yet dissipated.

It was not the distance of the fire that so much troubled me, as its direction. The wind blew right in our teeth, and the smoke was travelling with the wind. The conflagration must be ahead – directly upon the trail!

The smoke grew thicker and thicker – ahead, the sky appeared slashed with a lurid light; I fancied I could hear the crackling of the flames. The air felt hot and dry: a choking sensation was produced in our throats, and one and all were hacking and gasping for breath.

So dark had it suddenly become – or rather so blinded were we with the smoke – we could scarcely make out the trail.

My followers would have stopped, but I urged them on. With voice and example, I urged them on – myself leading the way. My heart was too full of anxiety to make pause.

Where in all this were Rube and Garey? We had come far and fast; we should now be nearly up with them – they could not be much ahead.

I halloed as we advanced.

“Hullow!” came the response, in the rough baritone of the younger trapper.

We hurried forward in the direction of the voice.

The path conducted to an opening in the chapparal – in the centre of which, through the smoke, we could distinguish the forms of men and horses.

With eager eyes, I scanned the group; a glance was sufficient: there were only two of each – only the trackers.

Chapter Sixty Nine.

Smoke and Thirst

“Ah, Monsieur Roob!” cried the Canadian, as we hurried up, “vat make zees diable d’une fumée – smoke? Are ze woods on fire – you tink – eh?”

“Wuds!” exclaimed Rube, with a contemptuous glance at the speaker. “Wagh! Thur’s no wuds hyur. Thur’s a paraira afire. Don’t yer smell the stink o’ the grass?”

“Pe gar, oui! vraiment – c’est la prairie? You sure, Monsieur Roob?”

“Sure!” vociferated the trapper in a tone of indignation – “Sure! – ye durned parley-voo-eat-a-frog-spit-a-brickbat-soup-suckin’ Frenchman, d’yur think I don’t know the smell o’ a burnin’ paraira? Wagh!”

“Ah, Monsieur Roob, me pardonnez. Vat I mean ask – is ze chapparal brule – on fire – ces arbres?”

“The chapparil ain’t afire,” answered Rube, somewhat mollified by the apology: “so don’t be skeeart, Frenchy yur safe enuf.”

This assurance seemed to gratify not only the timid Canadian, but others, who, up to this moment, were apprehensive that it was the thicket that was on fire.

For myself, I had no such fears; I perceived that the chapparal could not burn. Here and there, patches of dry mezquite-trees would have caught like tinder; but in most places, a succulent endogenous vegetation formed three parts of the jungle, and rendered it “fire-proof.” This was especially the case around the glade where the trappers had taken their stand, and which was completely enclosed by a wall of the great organ cactus, with aloes, opuntias, and other juicy-leaved plants. In the opening, we were as safe from the fire as though it was a hundred miles off; we suffered only from the smoke, that now quite filled the atmosphere, causing a darkness that rivalled night itself.

I had no apprehension for our safety; it was not of that I was thinking.

To the hasty dialogue between Rube and the Canadian I had scarcely given heed; Garey had advanced to meet me, and I listened with anxious ear to the tale of the tracker.