Chapter Seventy Seven "A Split Trail" - Osceola the Seminole by Mayne Reid
It proved not to be so near us as we had anticipated. Pressing forward, as fast as our guides could lift the trail, we followed it for ten miles. We had hoped to find revenge at half the distance.
The Indians either knew that we were after them; or, with their wonted wisdom were marching rapidly under the mere suspicion of a pursuit. After the committal of such horrid atrocities, it was natural for them to suppose they would be pursued.
Evidently they were progressing as fast as we — but not faster; though the sun was broiling hot, sap still oozed from the boughs they had accidentally broken — the mud turned up by their horses’ hoofs, as the guides expressed it, had not yet "crusted over," and the crushed herbage was wet with its own juice and still procumbent.
To the denizen of the city, accustomed to travel from street to street by the assistance of sign boards at every corner and numbers on every door, it must appear almost incredible that the wild savage, or untutored hunter, can, without guide or compass, unerringly follow, day after day, the track of some equally cunning foe. To the pursuing party every leaf, every twig, every blade of grass is a "sign," and they read them as plainly as if the route were laid down upon a map. While the pursuing party is thus attentive to detect "sign," the escaping one is as vigilant to avoid leaving any — and many are the devices resorted to, to efface the trail.
"Jest helf a hour ahead," remarked old Hickman, as he rose erect after examining the tracks for the twentieth time — "jest helf a hour, dog-darn ’em! I never knowed red skins to travel so fast afore. Thar a streakin’ it like a gang o’ scared bucks, an’ jest ’bout now thar breech clouts are in a purty considerable sweat, an’ some o’ thar duds is stannin at an angle o’ forty-five, I reckon."
A peal of laughter was the reply to this sally of the guide.
"Not so loud, fellars! not so loud," said he, interrupting the laughter by an earnest wave of his hand. "By jeroozalim! tha’ll hear ye; an if they do, tha’ll be some o’ us ’ithout scalps afore sundown. For yer lives, boys, keep still as mice — not a word, or we’ll be heern — tha’r as sharp eared as thar own dogs, and, darn me, if I believe thar more’n helf a mile ahead o’ us."
The guide once more bent himself over the trail, and after a short reconnoissance of the tracks, repeated his last words with more emphasis.
"No, by —! not more’n half a mile — Hush, boys, keep as quiet as possums, an’ I promise ye we’ll tree the varmints in less’n a hour. Hush!"
Obedient to the injunctions, we rode forwards, as silently as it was possible for us to proceed on horseback.
We strove to guide our horses along the softer borders of the path to prevent the thumping of their hoofs. No one spoke above a whisper; and even then there was but little conversation, as each was earnestly gazing forwards, expecting every moment to see the bronzed savages moving before us.
In this way we proceeded for another half mile, without seeing aught of the enemy except their tracks.
A new object, however, now came in view — the clear sky shining through the trunks of the trees. We were all woodsmen enough to know that this indicated an "opening" in the forest.
Most of my companions expressed pleasure at the sight. We had now been riding a long way through the sombre woods — our path often obstructed by slimy and fallen logs, so that a slow pace had been unavoidable. They believed that in the open ground we should move faster; and have a better chance of sighting the pursued.
Some of the older heads, and especially the two guides, were affected differently by the new appearance. Hickman at once gave expression to his chagrin.
"Cuss the clarin," he exclaimed; "it are a savanner, an’ a big ’un, too — dog-gone the thing — it’ll spoil all."
"How?" I inquired.
"Ye see, Geordy, if thar a’ready across it, they’ll leave some on t’other side to watch — they’ll be sarten to do that, whether they know we’re arter ’em or not. Wall, what follers? We kin no more cross ’ithout bein’ seen, than a carryvan o’ kaymils. An’ what follers that? Once they’ve sighted us, in coorse they’ll know how to git out o’ our way; judjin’ from the time we’ve been a travellin’ — hey! it’s darned near sundown! — I reckon we must be clost to thar big swamp. If they spy us a-comin’ arter, they’ll make strait custrut for thar, and then I know what they’ll do."
"What?"
"They’ll scatter thar; and ef they do, we might as well go sarchin’ for bird’s-nests in snow time."
"What should we do?"
"It are best for the hul o’ ye to stop here a bit. Me and Jim Weatherford’ll steal forbad to the edge of the timmer, an’ see if they’re got acrosst the savanner. Ef they are, then we must make roun’ it the best way we kin, an’ take up thar trail on the tother aide. Thar’s no other chance. If we’re seen crossin’ the open ground, we may jest as well turn tail to ’em, and take the back-track home agin."
To the counsel of the alligator-hunter there was no dissenting voice. All acknowledged its wisdom, and he was left to carry out the design without opposition.
He and his companion once more dismounted from their horses, and, leaving us standing among the trees, advanced stealthily towards the edge of the opening.
It was a considerable time before they came back; and the other men were growing impatient. Many believed we were only losing time by this tardy reconnoissance, and the Indians would be getting further away. Sonde advised that the pursuit should be continued at once, and that, seen or not, we ought to ride directly onwards.
However consonant with my own feelings — burning as I was for a conflict with the murderers — I knew it would not be a prudent course. The guides were in the right.
These returned at length, and delivered their report. There was a savanna, and the Indians had crossed it. They had got into the timber on its opposite side, and neither man nor horse was to be seen. They could scarcely have been out of sight, before Hickman and Weatherford arrived upon its nearer edge, and the former averred that he had seen the tail of one of their horses, disappearing among the bushes.
During their absence, the cunning trackers had learned more. From the sign they had gathered another important fact — that there was no longer a trail for us to follow!
On entering the Savanna the Indians had scattered — the paths they had taken across the grassy meadow, were as numerous as their horses. As the hunter expressed it, the trail "war split up into fifty pieces." The latter had ascertained this by crawling out among the long grass, and noting the tracks.
One in particular had occupied their attention. It was not made by the hoof-prints of horses, though some of these ran alongside, but by the feet of men. They were naked feet; and a superficial observer might have fancied that but one pair of them had passed over the ground. The skilled trackers, however, knew this to be a ruse. The prints were large, and misshapen, and too deeply indented in the soil to have been produced by a single individual. The long heel, and scarcely convex instep — the huge balls, and broad prints of the toes, were all signs that the hunters easily understood. They knew that it was the trail of the negro captives who had proceeded thus by the direction of their captors.
This unexpected ruse on the part of the retreating savages created chagrin, as well as astonishment. For the moment all felt outwitted — we believed that the enemy was lost — we should be cheated of our revenge. Some even talked of the idleness of carrying the pursuit further. A few counselled us to go back; and it became necessary to appeal to their hatred of the savage foe — with most of them a hereditary passion — and once more to invoke their vengeance.
At this crisis, old Hickman cheered the men with fresh hope. I was glad to hear him speak.
"We can’t get at ’em to-night, boys," said he, after much talk had been spent; "we dasent cross over this hyar clearin’ by daylight, an’ it’s too big to git roun’ it. It ’ud take a twenty mile ride to circumvent the durned thing. Ne’er a mind! Let us halt hyar till the dark comes on. Then we kin steal across; an’ if me an’ Jim Weatherford don’t scare up the trail on the tother side, then this child never ate allygator. I know they’ll come thegither agin, an’ we’ll be like enough to find the durned varments camped somewhar in a clump. Not seein’ us arter ’em any more, they’ll be feelin’ as safe as a bear in a bee tree — an’ that’s jest the time to take ’em."
The plan was adopted; and, dismounting from our jaded horses, we awaited the setting of the sun.
There are few situations more trying to the boiling blood and pent-up fury of the pursuer — especially if he have bitter cause for vengeance — than a "check" in the chase; the loss of the trail of course often involves the escape of the foe, and though it may be after a while recovered, yet the delay affords such advantage to the enemy, that every moment serves only to increase the anxiety and whet the fury of the pursuer. This then was my case on the present occasion. While yielding to the advice of the hunter, because I knew it to be the best plan under the circumstances, I nevertheless could scarce control my impatience, or submit to the delay — but felt impelled to hurry forward, and alone and single-handed, if need be, inflict upon the savage miscreants the punishment due to their murderous deeds.