way to Oregon.”
He hastily rose, and we commenced our simple preparations. I ran up the river bank, and swept the prairie to the south of us to satisfy myself that no wandering Indians were in sight. The whole plain was visible, and with a feeling akin to joy, I reported the fact to Nat. He, however, was not satisfied with my survey, as he had more than once before detected objects that had escaped my vision, and he ascended a high roll in the bank, some distance up, and took a long, careful, scrutinizing sweep of the whole horizon. Feeling satisfied that he would be no more rewarded for his pains than I was, I started the fire, and commenced cooking some of our buffalo, I had been engaged in this for a minute or so, when I heard Nat call, in a hoarse, anxious, half-whisper:
“Come here, quick!”
I hurried to his side and eagerly asked him the cause of agitation.
“Why, just look yonder, if that ain’t enough to agitate one, then I don’t know what is.”
He pointed across the river, out upon the prairie; and following the direction of his finger, I saw not more than a mile or two away a single horseman proceeding leisurely from us.
“Who can that be?” I asked half to myself, still watching the receding figure.
“Why he’s the one that sent that bullet across the water after us, and I’m thinking it’s lucky for him, he’s going another way. If I should get my hands on him, he would remember the time.”
And Nat extended his arms energetically, and shook his head spitefully by way of emphasizing his remark.
I continued gazing after the unknown person. At first I supposed it was an Indian, but at that distance, and with his back toward us, it was almost impossible to judge accurately. A moment’s thought convinced me that it was a white man. I could make out the hunting-cap of the trapper, and was soon satisfied he belonged to that class. His horse was walking leisurely along, and he seemed totally unaware of the proximity of strangers.
But who could it be? Was it he who had fired the well-nigh fatal shot? And what meant his actions in thus willfully leaving us? These and similar questions I asked myself, without taking my eyes from him, or heeding the numerous questions and remarks my companion was uttering. But, of course, I could give no satisfactory solution, and when his figure had grown to be but a dim speck in the distance, I turned to Nat.
“We may see him again; but, if I don’t know him, I know one thing, I’m wonderfully hungry just now.”
We partook of a hearty breakfast, my appetite for which was considerably weakened by the occurrence just narrated. Without much difficulty we forded the Republican Fork, being compelled only to swim a few strokes in the channel, and reached the opposite side, with dry powder and food.
Here we made a careful search of the shore, and ascertained enough to settle beyond a doubt the identity of the horseman with the would-be assassin of the night before. His footprints could be seen, and the place where he had slept upon the ground, together with the scraps of meat. By examining the tracks of his horse, we discovered that both hind feet were shod; this decided our question of his being a white man; and although it cleared up one doubt, left us in a greater one. He could not have avoided the knowledge that we were of the same blood, and what demoniacal wish could lead him to seek the life of two harmless wanderers? Be he who he might, it was with no very Christian feelings toward him that we took the trail of his horse, and pursued it.
Our course after the first five miles, swerved considerably to the northwest. From the actions of the stranger, it was evident he understood the character of the country, and we judged the shortest way of reaching the Oregon trail would be by following him. The footprints of his animal were distinctly marked, and we had no difficulty in keeping them.
At noon we forded a stream, and shortly after another, both considerably less than the Republican Fork. On the northern bank of the latter, were the still glowing coals of the stranger’s camp-fire, and we judged he could be at no great distance. The country here was of a slightly different character from the rolling prairie over which we had journeyed thus far. There were hills quite elevated, and, now and then, groves of timber. In the river bottoms were numerous cottonwoods and elder; these natural causes so obstructed our view, that we might approach our unknown enemy very nigh without knowing it. Nat was quite nervous, and invariably sheered off from the forbidding groves of timber, striking the trail upon the opposite side at a safe distance.
In this way we traveled onward through the entire day. No signs of Indians were seen, and we anticipated little trouble from them, as they were friendly at this time, and the most they would do would be to rob us of some of our trinkets or rifles.
At sundown we left our guiding trail and struck off toward a small stream to camp for the night. When we reached it, and decided upon the spot, Nat remarked seriously:
“I say, Relmond, that feller might be near enough to give us another shot afore morning, and I’m going to see whether his trail crosses the brook out there or not.”
So saying, he wheeled and ran back to the spot where we had left it. It was still bright enough to follow it, and bending his head down to keep it in view, he continued upon a rapid run. I was upon the point of warning him against thus running into danger, but not feeling much apprehension for his safety, I turned my back toward him. A minute after, I heard his footsteps again, and, looking up, saw him coming with full speed toward me, his eyes dilated to their utmost extent, and with every appearance of terror.
“He’s there!” he exclaimed.
“Where?” I asked, catching his excitement.
“Just across the stream up there; I liked to have run right into him afore I knowed it. See there!”
As Nat spoke, I saw the glimmering of a fire through the trees, and heard the whinny of a horse.
“Didn’t he see you?”
“Yes, I know he did. When I splashed into the water like a fool, he looked up at me and grunted; I seen him pick up his rifle, and then I put, expecting each moment to feel a ball in me.”
“I thought you intended laying hands on him if an opportunity offered,” I remarked, with a laugh.
“I declare, I forgot that,” he replied, somewhat crestfallen.
After some further conversation, I decided to make the acquaintance of the person who had occupied so much of our thoughts. Nat opposed this, and urged me to get farther from him; but a meaning hint changed his views at once, and he readily acquiesced. He would not be prevailed upon, however, to accompany me, but promised to come to my aid if I should need help during the interview. So leaving him, I started boldly up the stream.
When I reached the point opposite the stranger’s camp-fire, I stumbled and coughed so as to attract his attention. I saw him raise his eyes and hurriedly scan me, but he gave no further evidence of anxiety, and I unhesitatingly sprang across the stream, and made my way toward him. Before I halted, I saw that he was a trapper. He was reclining upon the ground, before a small fire, and smoking a short black pipe, in a sort of dreamy reverie.
“Good evening, my friend,” I said, cheerfully, approaching within a few feet of him. He raised his eyes a moment, and then suffered them lazily to fall again, and continue their vacant stare into the fire. “Quite a pleasant evening,” I continued, seating myself near him.
“Umph!”
