uld have seen only the tops of our heads, and had no doubt taken us
for Indians!

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

A FOOT OF THIRTEEN INCHES.

The presence of the wheelbarrow explained a point that had been puzzling
us for some days. We had fallen upon its track more than once, and
supposed it to have been made by the wheel of a cart; but in no instance
being able to find the corresponding one, had given it up as a hopeless
enigma. The only explanation we had succeeded in offering ourselves
was: that some light cart had accompanied the caravan--the load of
which, being badly balanced, had thrown the weight upon one wheel,
allowing the other to pass over the ground without making an impression.
As it was only on dry grass we had traced it, this explanation had
sufficed--though far from being satisfactory. Neither my companion nor
myself ever thought of a wheelbarrow. Who would, in such a place?

"In the name o' Old Nick, who kin they be?" asked Wingrove, as we halted
on the ridge, where the fugitives had been last seen. "I'm not without
my suspicions," I replied, just then thinking of a peculiarity that had
but slightly occupied my attention--the cut and colour of their dresses.
"If I am not mistaken, the two shy birds that have fled from us are a
brace of uncle Sam's eagles."

"Sojers?"

"In all probability, and `old sojers' at that."

"But what 'ud sojers be a doin' out hyar?"

"Travelling to California, like ourselves."

"Desarters, may be?"

"Just what I suspect. No doubt the pair have slipped off from some of
the frontier posts; and having no opportunity to provide themselves with
a better means of transport, have brought the wheelbarrow with them. It
is ludicrous enough, but by no means improbable. There are some queer
customers in the service of Uncle Sam."

"I think there be--ha, ha, ha! What shed we do, capt'n? Hedn't we
better catch up to 'em?"

"That, comrade, may be easier said than done. If they're deserters--and
they must be, if they're soldiers at all--they'll take precious good
care not to let any one come near them, if they can help it. The escort
that accompanies the train will account for their not being along with
it. If they've caught a glimpse of my buttons, they'll be _cached_ by
this time."

"They only seed our heads. I reck'n they tuk us for Injuns?"

"In that case, they'll hide from us all the same--only a little more
cunningly."

"Consarn their sojer skins! Ef they war