e fire, the logs 'ud 'a been
laid wi' one eend turned in an the tother turned ut, jest like the star
on a Texas flag, or the spokes o' a wagon-wheel. Likeways Cherokee an
Choctaw wud 'a hed reg'lar tents, but thur fire wud 'a been alser
diff'rint. They'd 'a sot the logs puralell, side by side, an lit' em
only at one eend, an then pushed 'em up as fast as they burn'd. Thet's
thur way. 'Ee see these hyur logs is sot diff'rint--thur lit in the
middle, an thet's Kimanch for sartint--it ur."

Rube's "clairvoyance" extended further. The savages had been astart as
early as ourselves. They had decamped about daylight, and were now
exactly two hours ahead of us on the trail.

Why were they travelling so rapidly? Not from fear of pursuit by any
enemy. The soldiers of Mexico--had these been regarded by them--were
too busy with the Saxon foe, and _vice versa_. They could hardly be
expecting _as_ upon an expedition to rob them of their captives.
Perhaps they were driving forward to be in time for the great herds of
buffalo, that, along with the cold northers, might now be looked for in
the higher latitudes of the Comanche range. This was the explanation
given by the trappers--most probably the true one.

Under the influence of singular emotions, I rode over the ground. There
were other signs besides those of the savage--signs of the plunder with
which they were laden--signs of civilisation. There were fragments of
broken cups and musical instruments--torn leaves of books--remnants of
dresses, silks and velvets--a small satin slipper (the peculiar
_chaussure_ of the Mexican manola) side by side with a worn-out
mud-stained moccasin--fit emblems of savage and civilised life.

There was no time for speculating on so curious a confusion. I was
looking for signs of her--for traces of my betrothed.

I cast around me inquiring glances. Where was it probable she had
passed the night? Where?

Involuntarily my eyes rested upon the naked poles--the tent of the
chief. How could it be otherwise? Who among all the captives like her?
grandly beautiful to satisfy the eye even of a savage chieftain--
grandly, magnificently beautiful, how could she escape his notice?
There, in his lodge, shrouded under the brown skins of buffaloes--under
hideous devices--in the arms of a painted, keel-bedaubed savage--his
arms brawn and greasy--embraced--oh!--

"Young fellur! I ain't much o' a skollur; but I'd stake a pack o'
beaver plew agin