62. LXII.
THE TRAIL.
THE party had set out from the “Three Oaks” in
twenty minutes after the arrival of Captain Wagner.
That worthy, who, now that the contest
was approaching, grew as cold and deliberate as
an automaton, would not wait for Lord Fairfax, and his
troop. In brief, quick words, he delivered his orders—explained
that he was officially commanding for the Earl, the
Lieutenant of the county—and reviewed the arms and
equipments of the party. They were hunters for the most
part, and carried rifles and powder-horns. Nearly every
one had his provision of jerked beef for the expedition.
The rapid examination having proved satisfactory, the
Captain took the head of the party, and directed his march
straight toward the Cedar Creek Mountain to the west, in
which direction his knowledge of the country and of the
habits of the Indians told him that the band had gone.
They marched rapidly and silently until noon without
finding any traces; but all at once they came upon a cabin,
rifled of its contents and half-burned. The fire had evidently
gone out, and a miserable-looking woman who had
escaped on the appearance of the savages, and only returned
when they went off, was crouching by the chimney-corner.
Captain Wagner learned from her that his views
were correct in relation to the direction taken by the band,
and all set forward with new ardor.
They soon entered the wild range of the Cedar Creek
Mountain, and here, in the soft earth along the stream,
struck on an unmistakable trail. At points also distant only
a few yards from each other, the boughs were bent down
and broken, and the prints of feet were easily traced in the
earth.
Captain Wagner pointed these out to Falconbridge.
“Miss Argal's,” he said, briefly, indicating a deep, narrow
footprint; “and there's my friend's, broader and heavier.”
They pushed forward with new ardor, and followed the
footprints for several miles. Then the Captain suddenly
drew rein, and exclaimed:
“Stop! what's this? The marks are no longer to be
seen.”
And the Borderer dismounted and examined the ground
in every direction. The female footprints had disappeared;
but in place of them were unmistakable indications of blood.
An ominous frown passed over the face of the Captain, and
he looked at Falconbridge. He was trembling. As to
George, he was as pale as death.
“It's nothing,” said the Borderer, assuming a stolid look;
“see, here are the broken boughs still.”
In fact, these indications of the route which the band had
taken, as well as heavy moccasin footprints, were still visible.
As the prisoners had undoubtedly resorted to this
device to direct the search of their friends, those prisoners
were yet alive.
“May the devil take me if I understand that!” said the
Captain, frowning, “but we'll push on.”
The path now lay toward the north. They had followed
it for five miles, when it suddenly entered a stream a
hundred yards wide. Captain Wagner plunged in and
forded. On the opposite shore there was no sort of indication
of the passage of the band. The broken bushes had
continued regularly to the stream—there they suddenly
stopped.
Could they have taken to canoes? No, the band was
evidently too numerous, and the savages could have brought
none with them. What was the explanation? Why had
those marks disappeared? The Borderer knit his brows
and reflected; then suddenly he pushed back through the
water and went straight to one of the limbs which had been
bent down and broken. He examined it attentively for an
instant, and then leaped into the saddle again.
“About face, friends,” he said, “we are on the wrong
trail. Follow!”
And he set forward, quickly, returning over the ground
which they had just traversed.
“What is the meaning of this retreat, Captain?” said
Falconbridge, who seemed possessed by a sort of reckless
excitement, “we lose time.”
“We have lost much,” was the brief reply.
“Those broken boughs”——
“Are devices. Look at 'em, Falconbridge! Don't you
perceive that they are thicker than any woman could break
—and more than one higher than any but a man could
reach? Then observe how plain they are! As much as to
say `Come on! don't mistake!' Prisoners never could have
broken 'em without being noticed—it's a blind, and soon
you'll see!”
Without further words the Borderer pushed forward,
followed by the party, who knew him well, and did not
think it at all necessary to question him. They soon
reached the spot where the blood was visible, and the footprints
of the females disappeared.
“Friends,” said the Borderer, after nosing the ground for
some moments, like a dog, and examining the dry grass and
twigs in every direction, “we are on the trail again. At
this spot the bloody rascals discovered the trick of the women
to direct us, and one of 'em was struck with a tomahawk!
No blazing eyes Falconbridge, or George!—maybe
it was a friend of mine! If so, I'll hew down the devils to
the last man, or die! But come! The device is plain! The
women were taken up, or their shoes removed here; and the
fellows sneaked off with 'em, leaving no tracks, while a part
of the band went off north breaking limbs and stamping into
the ground to mislead us. When they came to the river,
they waded in the shallows for a mile, and then doubled
back to join the main body.”
“Why, there are no tracks here,” said Falconbridge,
eagerly.
“That's so—to your eyes, it may be, comrade. But I can
see 'em. Look at that sprig of grass broken by a moccasin,
and see this stick? Follow, friends! I'm on the track—I
can smell 'em!”
And the Borderer set forward rapidly. His predictions were
soon verified. At the distance of a quarter of a mile from
the bloody spot, the traces of feet again became visible, and
the narrow marks of high-heeled shoes. The pursuit was
now more rapid and sure. On the banks of Trout Run they
all at once found other footprints approaching from the
north; and Captain Wagner called the attention of Falconbridge
to the circumstance, with a significant look.
At the head of the stream, which the party reached, as
the sun began to sink, all the footprints disappeared again;
but a curl of the lip betrayed the feelings of the Borderer.
“They are a bungling set of rascals after all,” he said;
“and don't know their trade, or I'm a dandy! Come,
friends, back!”
“Back, Captain!” exclaimed Falconbridge, with surprise.
“Yes, comrade—you are too curious for a hunter or a
war party. Come by my side, and I'll explain as I go.”
The hunters had exhibited none of Falconbridge's surprise.
They obeyed implicity the directions of the Borderer,
and followed silently in the footsteps of his horse. Turning
a huge shoulder of the mountain, he said to Falconbridge
as they proceeded:
“This is the whole thing, companion. The red snakes
have crawled into the caves on the Devil's Garden, three
miles from the place we stopped at. If we had gone on
they would have seen us, and perhaps laid an ambush for us.
At any rate, we could have done nothing.”
“Yes, I see, but may I ask your plan?”
“Certainly. You are my second in command, and it is
simple. I am going to skirt this big shoulder, and mount
the peak yonder. From the top of it you will see the precipice
of the Devil's Garden, in which the enemy are concealed,
not two hundred yards in front of you. A gulf separates
it. But I know a way of passing over—there is a
path which is covered with pine bushes, winding down into
the gorge. As soon as night comes on, if we see good we'll
make the onset. I think the cards are pretty well shuffled,
and the game is about to begin, comrade!”
As he spoke, the Captain dismounted, and advised all
who were mounted to imitate him. He took the saddle
from the back of his horse, and hobbling his legs, turned
him loose into a little glen, where there was grass and
water. The rest did likewise: and then headed by the
Borderer, they cautiously wound up the precipitous mountain,
the summit of which they reached as the sun sank
from sight.
“Look, Falconbridge!” said Wagner, putting stealthily
aside the heavy pine boughs beneath which they were concealed;
“there are two of the red devils at the mouth of the
Devil's Cave!”
As we have seen, these were Lightfoot and the Half-breed.
