CHAPTER XIX.
THE NEST OF TRAITORS.
"Dear me, Rosa," exclaimed Miss Maclan, the tent being cleared oncemore, "I thought all you Southern Americans rode horses like centaurs.At least, you know my meaning though the simile is bad."
Rosario gave her a hug.
"Eh, darling!" she whispered; and added with a fine smile. "At presentI do not know how to ride."
"But I should have thought--"
"You are not good at the kind of thinking wanted out here, lassie! Theguide spoken of by the captain is devoted to us, eh? Yes; well, then,if he got that idiot of a Captain Kidd to put these questions to me, itis because he wanted no for an answer. Do you comprehend now?"
"Better than ever. Oh, you are keen, Rosario! They will not cheat youeasily!"
"Alas, dear, it is misfortune's grindstone that sharpens wits. Wheneven girls are constantly surrounded by tricks and stratagems, thesenses wear clear and bright. Cunning and dissimulation are the slave'ssole weapons. We can only baffle our enemies with skill and _finesse_."
When the starting time came Captain Kidd's bugle sounded it, and gaveorders for the movement. The guide had not come back from his hunt, butas he had left precise directions, the leader showed no tokens of beingcrossed by that absence, and took the lead himself.
It was a most painful journey.
Out of the snowlined woods issued a black damp frost, which cut to thebone even the thickest wrapped. A few large snowflakes were spun out oftreetops and wandered about. The semblance of a road was dreadfully cutup and flanked by deep chasms, which required the utmost heedfulness onthe part of the teamster lest the vehicles and pack animals were throwndown and over. They seemed to have nothing but ups and downs, and theworst of the downs was, it being through torrents or pools where thewater was excessively chilly.
The caravan proceeded noiselessly on the whole, excepting the groaningand screaming of the wheels and the sonorous oaths of the drivers: menwho do not sleep happily unless they have invented a fresh blasphemyevery day.
Their disagreeable march, during which but scanty progress was madeafter all, was kept on till half past four, when darkness came on. Thetrain had reached a natural clearing resembling that of their last halt.
Such a huge fire as served our ancestors to roast oxen whole, and astheir present-day descendants now and then use for the same purpose atextraordinary meetings, was blazing in the open space. Right in frontstood the guide, leaning on his rifle as easily as if he little caredfor the pyre attracting Indians as a lantern does gnats on a summernight.
The party quickened their gait as much as possible, enheartened by theruddy flame of which the mere reflection seemed to thaw their stiffenedlimbs.
Soon were the wagons unlimbered and ranged in defensive order, themules unladen, and the encampment as swiftly installed as couldbe. As the night was to be spent here, the measures of assurancewere unusually well taken. The wagons were chained in two crescentsconnected by parallel bars, the interstices choked up with stake andthorn bushes, and the tents set up within the enclosure. The sentrieswere told to keep their eyes skinned. Plenty of watch fires werekindled and provided with fuel.
Only when these precautions were concluded did the gold grabbers getleave to prepare supper. Think what their appetite was with this hardwork on top of that excited by the long and arduous journey. They"wolf'd" their meal.
After the captain had strictly inspected the camp, investigated thesurrounding scenery, and became convinced all was in order, he strolledover to Ranald. He was at his own fire, smoking a pipe, the guide notbeing an officer who "chums" with anyone; again a point of resemblancewith a sea pilot.
"My friend the hunter," said the captain, in a most amicable tone, "Idesire you to pass the night with us, and take supper with our chiefs."
"Many thanks, captain; I do not see any reason why I should go out onthe prowl tonight, and nothing bars me from putting my knife into yourWashington pie. But a little condition on that, captain."
"Name it, dear boy. If it depends on me, it is granted beforehand,"said Kidd, who was becoming accustomed to Dearborn's "little whims."
"I only ask one thing, that there shall be none but men at the board."
"A 'stag party?' But what do you say that for?"
"That's not easy to explain. But the fact is, I haven't come out intothe wilderness to hear women squeak, and see them mince about and playall those niminy-piminy lures and graces that city people think areagreeable. I have no wish to say a word contrary to the respect I holdfor the young Southern lady in your charge; but, by Jove! I'll confessthat I prefer the wolf scaring faggot here to sitting at table overagainst the fair sex."
"Oh, good," replied the captain, who knew that for every seven youngmen whom a homicide, debt, loss at gambling, love of wild life, etc.,drove into the desert, there were six whose first love affair turnedout disastrously; he thought he perceived at last the true cause of theyouth's reserved mood and peculiarities. "You'll not be bothered withher, particularly as we are going to talk about her, and could not welldo that if she were by, or her Scotch attendant either."
"Attendant?"
"Yes, I've picked out the woman we rescued to be her companion. Itcheers her up. She was moping a little."
"Things being so, captain, I am your man."
In five minutes, the captain, Joe, and the Englishman were suppingtogether with hearty appetite. When this was a trifle allayed by thefirst course, Kidd brought the conversation round upon Dona Rosario, byreason of her having stopped the choice of the short cut.
"Women are always a bother," remarked the young misanthrope with asneer. "With no intention to offend you, I would not mind betting atrifle that the young lady can ride as well as you or I."
"She says the other thing," returned the host, thoughtful of a sudden.
"Out of the spirit of contradiction, that's all."
"It's very certain," interposed Joe, "if she was educated at NewOrleans, that she must be a rare exception to the troops of schoolgirlswho go out riding on the Shell Road."
"It's all pure contradiction," resumed Dearborn; "who can say a thingis black to a woman without her saying it is white?"
"Or grey, at least," added the lieutenant, sagely.
"That's why," continued the youngest man, "I have sworn off woman'ssociety. Though the best woman in creation came out here, I shouldsend her back to the nearest railway station! I'll never cumber myselfup with the baggage! They're a bad bargain, though they come with amillion in the Funds!"
"Whew!" exclaimed Joe, laughing, "Our guide does not strike me as avery passionate adorer of the sex."
"No, no, don't put me down as either hating or liking them," went onthe hunter; "write me as indifferent. My father was a man of great goodsense; an oracle in his county. He used to say that the modern woman islike the grand piano: it looks useful, but it takes up too much room,and is always in the way. You cannot use the wires for a gridiron, thetop is badly shaped for a billiard table, and the legs are so hard, youcannot chop them up in a sudden emergency for heating shaving water.And when she is musical, the neighbours move out and leave the lastquarter's rent owing. I agree with my dear old dad."
The others laughed.
"The sad part of it all is, that we must pass three or four days wemight have saved in this dreary solitude," remarked the captain.
"Still, you might take the short cut," observed Joe.
"I don't see how."
"Well, my principle is, that the few must give in to the many. Sounddemocratic maxim. Dona Rosario says she cannot ride. Never mind whethershe can or not, truly; but that does not bind us down from taking thecutoff. Not a bit of it."
"I wish you would explain," said Kidd, testily. "What would you do inmy place, man full of dodges?"
"One thing--the easiest thing in the world," responded the Carcajieu,playing with his knife on a bone. "I would pick out an old sure-footmule--we've several rare good ones--I'd put a sidesaddle on, wellfilled with a
bag of leaves, rugs, blankets, and such fixings, so thelady should not get cold, and fasten her in."
"Not a bad notion. What do you think, guide?"
Dearborn laughed in the face of Joe.
"And when the mule slips, your hardbound lady rider would be dashed tosausage meat in the gulf below. They run eight hundred feet deep roundhere."
"Bah! That's nothing. Apparently, you do not know what a mule is--acat for clinging to the roughnesses, a fly for walking up a smoothperpendicular."
"Oh, if you think the mule can scramble along--"
"A mule can go where we daren't."
"Then I will share in your lieutenant's suggestions," said Dearborn,exchanging a secret glance of intelligence with Joe.
"That's fine, then! Tomorrow we will strike into the straight line youproposed, guide. Are your horns full? Then, here's to the YellowstoneValley!"