The trail of the two horses ridden by Margery and her woman cut a right
angle with the road, turning northwest along the left bank of the
stream; and, despite the rain, which was now pouring steadily even in
the thick wood, the hoof-prints were so plainly marked that we could
follow at a smart dog-trot.
In this speeding the old hunter and the Indian easily outwearied
Jennifer and me. They both ran with a slow swinging leap, like the
racking gait, half pace, half gallop, of a well-trained troop horse.
Mile after mile they put behind them in these swinging bounds; and when,
well on in the afternoon, we stopped to eat a snack of the cold meat and
to slake our thirst at one of the many rain pools, I was fain to follow
Jennifer's lead, throwing myself flat on the soaking mold to pant and
gasp and pay off the arrears of breathlessness.
This breathing halt was of the briefest; but before the race began
again, Ephraim Yeates took time to make a careful scrutiny of the trail,
measuring the stride of the horses, and looking sharply on the briars
for some bit of cloth or other token of assurance. When we came up with
him he was mumbling to himself.
"Um-hm; jes' so. They was a-making tracks along hereaway, sartain, sure;
larruping them hosses to a keen jump, lickity-split. Now, says I to
myself, what's the tarnation hurry? Ain't they got all the time there is
to get where they're a-going, immejitly, _if_ not sooner?" Then he
turned upon me. "Cap'n John, can't you and the youngster lay your heads
side and side and make out what-all this here hoss-captain mought be up
to? It do look like he had some sort o' hatchet to grind, a-sending that
Afrikin back to raise a hue and cry, and then a-letting his Injuns leave
a trail like this here that any tow-head boy from the settlemints could
follow at a canter.
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