Part 21 (1/2)
for, I'll be boun'.”
It was as the hunter had conjectured. A little outside the enclosure, several vultures were seen upon the trees, perched upon the lowest branches, and evidently collected there by some object on the ground.
On approaching the spot, the birds flew off with reluctance; and the old horse was seen lying among the weeds, under the shadow of a gigantic sycamore. He was quite dead, though still wearing his skin; and a broad red disc in the dust, opposite a gaping wound in the animal's throat, showed that he had been slaughtered where he lay!
”He's killed the crittur!” musingly remarked my companion as he pointed to the gash; ”jest like what he'd do! He might a left the old thing to some o' his neighbours, for all he war worth; but it wudn't a been Hick Holt to a did it. He wan't partickler friendly wi' any o' us, an' least o' all wi' myself--tho' I niver knew the adzact reezun o't, 'ceptin'
that I beat him once shootin', at a _barbecue_. He war mighty proud a'
his shootin', an' that riled him, I reck'n: he's been ugly wi' me iver since.”
I scarcely heeded what the young hunter was saying--my attention being occupied with a process of a.n.a.lytical reasoning. In the dead horse, I had found a key to the time of Holt's departure. The ground for some distance around where the carca.s.s lay was quite dry: the rain having been screened off by a large spreading branch of the sycamore, that extended its leafy protection over the spot. Thus sheltered, the body lay just as it had fallen; and the crimson rivulet, with its terminating ”pool,” had only been slightly disturbed by the feet of the buzzards-- the marks of whose claws were traceable in the red mud, as was that of their beaks upon the eyeb.a.l.l.s of the animal. All these were signs, which the experience of a prairie campaign had taught me how to interpret; and which the forest lore of my backwoods comrade also enabled him to read. At the first question put to him, he comprehended my meaning.
”How long think you since he was killed?” I asked, pointing to the dead horse. ”Ha! ye're right, stranger!” said he, perceiving the object of the interrogatory. ”I war slack not to think o' that. We kin easy find out, I reck'n.”
The hunter bent down over the carca.s.s, so as to bring his eyes close to the red gash in the neck. In this he placed the tips of his fingers, and kept them there. He uttered not a word, but held his head slantwise and steadfast, as if listening. Only for a few seconds did he remain in this att.i.tude; and then, as if suddenly satisfied with the examination, he rose from his stooping posture, exclaiming as he stood erect:
”Good, by thunder! The old horse hain't been dead 'bove a kupple o'
hours. Look thar, stranger! the blood ain't froze? I kin a'most fancy thar's heat in his old karkiss yet!”
”You are sure he has been killed this morning?”
”Quite sure o't; an' at most three, or may be four hour agone. See thar!” he continued, raising one of the limbs, and letting it drop again; ”limber as a eel! Ef he'd a been dead last night, the leg'd been stiff long afore this.”
”Quite true,” replied I, convinced, as was my companion, that the horse had been slaughtered that morning.
This bit of knowledge was an important contribution towards fixing the time of the departure. It told the _day_. The hour was of less importance to our plans; though to that, by a further process of reasoning, we were enabled to make a very near approximation. Holt must have killed the horse before going off; and the act, as both of us believed, could not have been accomplished at a very early hour. As far as the sign enabled us to tell, not more than four hours ago; and perhaps about two, before the time of my first arrival in the clearing.
Whether the squatter had left the ground immediately after the performance of this rude sacrifice, it was impossible to tell. There was no sign by which to determine the point; but the probability was, that the deed was done just upon the eve of departure; and that the slaughter of the old horse was the closing act of Holt's career in his clearing upon Mud Creek. Only one doubt remained. Was it he who had killed the animal? I had conceived a suspicion pointing to Su-wa-nee-- but without being able to attribute to the Indian any motive for the act.
”No, no!” replied my comrade, in answer to my interrogatory on this head: ”'twar Holt hisself, sartin. He culdn't take the old hoss along wi' him, an' he didn't want anybody else to git him. Besides, the girl hedn't no reezun to a did it. She'd a been more likely to a tuk the old critter to thar camp--seein' he war left behind wi' n.o.body to own him.
Tho' he wan't worth more'n what the skin 'ud fetch, he'd adone for them ar Injuns well enuf, for carryin' thar traps an' things. No, 'twan't her, nor anybody else 'ceptin' Holt hisself--he did it?”
”If that be so, comrade, there is still hope for us. They cannot have more than four hours the start. You say the creek has a winding course?”
”Crooked as a c.o.o.n's hind leg.”
”And the Obion?”
”Most part the same. It curls through the bottom like the tail o' a cur-dog; an' nigher the Ma.s.sissippy, it don't move faster than a snail 'ud crawl. I reck'n the run o' the river 'll not help 'em much. The'll hev a good spell o' paddlin' afore they git down to Ma.s.sissippy; an' I hope that durned Mormon 'll blister his ugly claws at it!”
”With all my heart!” I rejoined; and both of us at the same instant recognising the necessity of taking time by the forelock, we hurried back to our horses, sprang into our saddles and started along the trace conducting to the mouth of the Obion.
CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN.
A LOOKOUT FROM ALOFT.
It cost us a fatiguing ride of nearly twelve hours' duration--most of it along by-roads and bridle-paths--at intervals pa.s.sing through tracts of swampy soil, where our horses sank to the saddle-girths in mud. We rode continuously: stopping only once to recruit our horses at one of the ”stands,” or isolated log hostelries--which are found upon the old ”traces” connecting the spa.r.s.e settlements of the backwoods. It was the only one we saw upon our route; and at it we remained no longer than was absolutely necessary to rest our wearied steeds, and put them in a condition for the completion of the journey. We knew the necessity of haste. Our only hope lay in being able to reach the mouth of the Obion before the canoe could pa.s.s out of it. Otherwise, our journey would be in vain; and we should not only have our long ride for nothing, but would be under the necessity of doubling the distance by riding back again.
Along the route we found time to discuss the circ.u.mstances--both those in our favour and against us. The water-way taken by the canoe was far from being direct. Both the creek and the larger stream curved repeatedly in their courses; and in ordinary times were of sluggish current. The freshet, however, produced by the late rain-storm, had rendered it swifter than common; and we knew that the canoe would be carried down with considerable rapidity--faster than we were travelling on horseback. On such roads, for so great a distance, fast travelling was impossible; and could only have been accomplished at the risk of killing our horses. Mounted as I was, I might have made more of the time; but I was under the necessity of slackening pace for my companion--whose sorry steed constantly required waiting for. Our sole chance lay in our route being shorter, and in the circ.u.mstance that the fugitives had not a very long start of us; but for all this the issue was exceedingly doubtful; and by the nicest calculations, we were satisfied we should have but little margin to spare.
I need hardly point out the importance of our arriving in time. Should the canoe get beyond the mouth of the Obion--without our seeing it--we should be left undetermined as to whether they had gone _up_ the Mississippi or _down_; and therefore altogether without a guide as to our future movements. In fact, we should be unable to proceed further in the pursuit. So far as the mouth of the Obion, their route was fixed; and of course ours was also determined. But beyond, it would be on our part mere blind guessing; and, should evil chance conduct us in the wrong direction, the result would be ruin to our prospects. On the other hand, could we but arrive in time--if only to see the canoe entering the great river--and note which turning it took--our purpose would be accomplished. That is, our _present_ purpose; for beyond that of ascertaining their route of travel across the plains, and their point of destination, I had formed no plans. To follow them wherever they might go--even to the distant sh.o.r.es of the Pacific--to seek them wherever they might settle--to settle beside them--beside _her_--these were the ideas I had as yet but vaguely conceived. All ulterior designs were contingent on the carrying out of these, and still shrouded under the clouded drapery of the ambiguous future.