The War Trail: The Hunt of the Wild Horse

“They ur,” said Rube, “every one o’ ’em – an Injun hoss-tracks too – sartint they ur.”

“They may be the wild-hosses, Rube?” said one of the rangers, riding up and surveying the sign.

“Wild jackasses!” angrily retorted the old trapper. “Whur did you ever see a wild-hoss? Do ’ee s’pose I’ve turned stone-blind, do ’ee? Stan thur, my mar!” he cried, talking to his mare, flinging his lean carcass out of the saddle at the same time: “stan thur! ’ee knows better than thet fellur, I kin tell by the way yur sniftin’. Keep yur ground a minnit, ole gurl, till Rube Rawlins shew these hyur greenhorns how a mountain man kin read sign – wild-hosses! wagh!”

After thus delivering himself, the trapper dropped upon his knees, placed his lips close to the ground, and commenced blowing at the black ashes.

The others had by this time ridden up, and sat in their saddles watching him. We saw that he was clearing the ashes out of one of the hollows which he had pronounced to be horse-tracks, and which now proved to be so.

“’Thur now, mister!” said he, turning triumphantly, and rather savagely, upon the ranger who had questioned the truth of his conjecture: “thur’s a shod track – shod wi’ parflesh too. Did ’ee ever see a wild-hoss, or a wild mule, or a wild jackass eyther, shod wi’ parflesh? Ef ’ee did, it’s more’n Rube Rawlins ever seed, an thet ur trapper’s been on the hoss-plains well-nigh forty yeern. Wagh!”

Of course, there was no reply to this interrogatory. There was the track; and, dismounting, all examined it in turn.

Sure enough it was the track of a shod horse – shod with parflèche– thick leather made from the hide of the buffalo bull.

We all knew this to be a mode of shoeing practised by the horse-Indians of the plains, and only by them.

The evidence was conclusive: Indians had been upon the ground.

Chapter Seventy Three.

Translating the “Sign.”

This discovery brought us to a pause. A consultation ensued, in which all took part; but as usual, the others listened to the opinions of the prairie-men, and especially to that of Rube.

The old trapper was inclined to sulk for some time, and acted as if he meant to withhold his advice. Nothing “miffed” him more than to have his word contradicted or his skill called in question. I have known him to be “out of sorts” for days, from having his prairie-craft doubted by some one whom he deemed less experienced than himself; and, indeed, there were few of his kind whose knowledge of the wilderness was at all comparable with his. He was not always in the right; but generally where his instincts failed, it wat, idle to try further. In the present case, the man who had thoughtlessly doubted him was one of the “greenest” of the party, but this only aggravated the matter in the eyes of Old Rube.

“Sich a fellur as you,” he said, giving a last dig to the offending ranger – “sich a fellur as you oughter keep yur head shet up: thet ur tongue o’ yourn s’ allers a gwine like a bull’s tail in fly-time. Wagh!”

As the man made no reply to this rather rough remonstrance, Rube’s “dander” soon smoothed down; and once more becoming cool, he turned his attention to the business of the hour.

That there had been Indians upon the ground was now an ascertained fact; the peculiar shoeing of the horses rendered it indubitable. Mexican horses, if shod at all, would have had a shoeing of iron – at least on their fore-feet. Wild mustangs would have had the hoof naked; while the tracks of Texan or American horses could have been easily told, either from the peculiar shoeing or the superior size of their hoofs. The horses that had galloped over that ground were neither wild, Texan, nor Mexican: Indian they must have been.

Although the one track first examined might have settled the point, it was a fact of too much importance to be left under the slightest doubt. The presence of Indians meant the presence of enemies – foes dire and deadly – and it was with something more than feelings of mere curiosity that my companions scrutinised the sign.

The ashes were blown out from several others, and these carefully studied. Additional facts were brought to light by those Champollions of the prairie – Rube and Garey. Whoever rode the horses, had been going in a gallop. They had not ridden long in one course; but here and there had turned and struck off in new directions. There had been a score or so of them. No two had been galloping together; their tracks converged or crossed one another – now zigzagging, now running in right lines, or sweeping in curves and circles over the plain.

All this knowledge the trackers had obtained in less than ten minutes – simply by riding around and examining the tracks. Not to disturb them in their diagnosis, the rest of us halted and awaited the result of their scrutiny.

In ten minutes’ time both came back to us; they had read the sign to their satisfaction, and needed no further light.

That sign had disclosed to them one fact of more significance than all the rest. Of course, we all knew that the Indian horsemen had gone over the ground before the grass had been burnt; but how long before? We had no difficulty in making out that it was upon that same day, and since the rising of the sun – these were trifles easily ascertained; but at what hour had they passed? Late, or early? With the steed, before, or after him?

About this point I was most anxious, but I had not the slightest idea that it could be decided by the “sign.”

To my astonishment, those cunning hunters returned to tell me, not only the very hour at which the steed had passed the spot, but also that the Indian horsemen had been riding after him! Clairvoyance could scarcely have gone farther.

The old trapper had grown expletive, more than was his wont. It was no longer a matter of tracking the white steed. Indians were near. Caution had become necessary, and neither the company nor counsel of the humblest was to be scorned. We might soon stand in need of the strength, even of the weakest in our party.

Freely, then, the trackers communicated their discoveries, in answer to my interrogation.

“The white hoss,” said Rube, “must ’a been hyur ’bout four hour ago – kalkerlatin the rate at which he wur a gwine, an kalkerlatin how fur he hed ter kum. He hain’t ’a stopped nowhur; an ’ceptin i’ the thicket, he hez gallipt the rest o’ the way – thet’s clur. Wal, we knows the distance, thurfor we knows the time – thet’s clur too; an four hour’s ’bout the mark, I reck’n – preehaps a leetle less, an alser preehaps a leetle more. Now, furrermore to the peint. Them niggurs hez been eyther clost arter ’im, in view o’ the critter, or follerin ’im on the trail – the one or the t’other – an which ’taint possyble to tell wi’ this hyur sign no-how-cum-somever. But thet they wur arter ’im, me an Bill’s made out clur as mud – thet we sartintly hez.”

“How have you ascertained that they were after?”

“The tracks, young fellur – the tracks.”

“But how by them?”

“Easy as eatin’ hump-rib: them as wur made by the white hoss ur un’ermost.”

The conclusion was clear indeed. The Indians must have been after him.

We stayed no longer upon the spot, but once more sending the trackers forward, moved on after them.

We had advanced about half-a-mile farther, when the horse-tracks, hitherto scattered, and tending in different directions, became merged together, as though the Indians had been riding, not in single file – as is their ordinary method – but in an irregular body of several abreast.

The trackers, after proceeding along this new trail for a hundred yards or so, deliberately drew up; and dismounting, bent down upon their hands and knees, as if once more to examine the sign. The rest of us halted a little behind, and watched their proceedings without offering to interrupt them.

Both were observed to be busy blowing aside the ashes, not now from any particular track, but from the full breadth of the trail.

In a few minutes, they succeeded in removing the black dust from a stretch of several yards – so that the numerous hoof-prints could be distinctly traced, side by side, or overlapping and half obliterating one another.

Rube now returned to where they had commenced; and then once more leisurely advancing upon his knees, with eyes close to the surface, appeared to scrutinise the print of every hoof separately.

Before he had reached the spot where Garey was still engaged in clearing off the dust, he rose to his feet with an air that told he was satisfied, and turning to his companion, cried out —

“Don’t bother furrer, Bill: it ur jest as I thort; they’ve roped ’im, by Gad!”

Chapter Seventy Four.

The Steed Lazoed

It was not the emphatic tone in which this announcement was made that produced within me conviction of its truth; I should have been convinced without that. I was better than half prepared for the intelligence thus rudely conveyed; for I was myself not altogether unskilled in that art of which my trapper-companions were masters.

I had observed the sudden convergence of the horse-tracks; I had noticed also, that, after coming together, the animals had proceeded at a slow pace – at a walk. I needed only to perceive the hoof of the steed among the others, to know that he no longer ran free – that he was a captive.

This the tracker had found; hence the decisive declaration that the Indians had “roped” him – in other words, had caught him with their lazoes.

“Sartint they’ve tuk ’im,” asserted Rube, in answer to an interrogatory: “sartint sure; hyur’s his track clur as daylight. He’s been led hyur at the eend o’ a laryette; he’s been nigh the middle o’ the crowd – some in front – some hev been arter ’im – thet’s how they’ve gone past hyur. Wagh!” continued the speaker, once more turning his eyes upon the trail, “thur’s been a good grist on ’em – twunty or more; an ef this child don’t miskalkerlate, thet ain’t the hul o’ the niggurs; it ain’t! ’Tur only some o’ ’em as galliped out to rope the hoss. I’d lay my rifle agin a Mexican blunderbox, thur’s a bigger party than this nigh at hand somewhur hyur. By Geehosophat, thur’s boun to be, sartint as sun-up!”

The suspicion that had half formed itself in my mind was no longer hypothetical; the sign upon the trail had settled that: it was now a positive intelligence – a conviction. The steed had been taken; he and his rider were captive in the hands of the Indians.

This knowledge brought with it a crowd of new thoughts, in which emotions of the most opposite character were mingled together.

The first was a sensation of joy. The steed had been captured, and by human beings. Indians at least were men, and possessed human hearts. Though in the rider they might recognise the lineaments of their pale-faced foes – not so strongly neither – yet a woman, and in such a dilemma, what reason could they have for hostility to her?

None; perhaps the very opposite passion might be excited by the spectacle of her helpless situation. They would see before them the victim of some cruel revenge – the act, too, of their own enemies; this would be more likely to inspire them with sympathy and pity; they would relieve her from her perilous position; would minister to her wants and wounds; would tenderly nurse and cherish her: yes; of all this I felt confident. They were human; how could they do otherwise?