Thus far, however, none had offered to interrupt or question the queer old man. None dared. One or two of the party had already had a taste of his quality when fretted or interfered with, and no one desired to draw upon himself the sharp "talk" of the earless trapper.

Garey at length approached, but not until Rube, with a triumphant toss of his head and a scarcely audible "wheep" from his thin lips, showed signs that the consultation had ended, and that the "joss" who dwelt at the bottom of his rifle-barrel had vouchsafed an answer!

I had watched him with the rest. I liked that expressive hitch of the head; I liked the low, but momentous sibillation that terminated the _seance_ between him and his familiar spirit. They were signs that the knot was unravelled--that the old trapper had devised some feasible plan by which the Indian camp might be entered.

Garey and I drew near, but not to question him; we understood him too well for that. We knew that he must be left free to develop his purpose in his own time; and we left him free--simply placing ourselves by his side.

"Wal, Billee!" he said, after drawing a long breath, "an yurself, young fellur! whet do 'ee both think o' this hyur bizness: looks ugly, don't it--eh, boyees?"

"Tarnal ugly," was Garey's laconic answer.

"Thort so meself at fust."

"Thar ain't no plan o' gettin' in yander," said the young trapper, in a desponding tone.

"The doose thur ain't! what greenhorn put thet idee inter yur brain-pan, Bill?"

"Wal, thar are a plan; but 'tain't much o' a one: we've been talkin it over hyar."

"Le's hear it," rejoined Rube, with an exulting chuckle--"le's hev it, boyee! an quick, Bill, fur time's dodrotted preecious 'bout now. Wal?"

"It's jest this, Rube, neyther less nor more: the capt'n proposes to take the Injun's hoss; and ride straight into thar camp."

"Straight custrut in, do 'ee?"

"Ov coorse; it 'ud be no use goin about the bush: they kin see him a-comin' from ony side."

"I'll be durned ef they kin--thet I'll be durned. Wagh! they cudn't 'a see me--thet they cudn't, ef ivery niggur o' 'em hed the eyes o' an Argoose es hed eyes all over him--thet they cudn't, Billee."

"How?" I inquired. "Do you mean to say that it is possible for any one to approach yonder camp without being observed? Is that what you mean, Rube?"

"Thet ur preezactly whet I mean, young fellur. No--not adzactly thet eyther. One o' _you_ I didn't say: whet I sayed wur, that this hyur trapper, Rube Rawlins o' the Rocky Mountains, kud slide inter yander campmint jest like greased lightnin through a gooseberry-bush, 'ithout e'er an Injun seein 'im; an thet, too, ef the red-skinned vamints hed more eyes in thur heads than they hev lice; which, accordin' to this child's reck'nin', 'ud guv ivery squaw's son o' the gang as many peepers es thur ur spots in a peecock's tail, an a wheen over to breed, I kalkerlate. No plan to git inter thur camp 'ithout bein' seed! Wagh!

yur gettin' green, Bill Garey!"

"How can it be accomplished, Rube? Pray, explain! You know how impatient--"

"Don't git unpayshint, young fellur! thet ur's no use whetsomdiver.

Yu'll need payshinse, an a good grist o' thet ur, afore ye kin warm yur shins at yander fires; but 'ee kin do it, an in the nick o' time too, ef yu'll go preezactly accordin' to whet old Rube tells ye, an keep yur eye well skinned and yur teeth from chatterin': I knows yu'll do all thet.

I knows yur weasel to the back o' yur neck, an kin whip yur weight in wild cat any day i' the year. Now? D'yur agree to follur my direekshuns!"

"I promise faithfully to act according to your advice."

"Thet ur sensible sayed--durnation'd sensible. Wal, then, I'll gi' ye my device."

As Rube said this, he moved forward to the edge of the timber, making a sign for Garey and myself to follow.

On reaching its outer edge--but still within cover--he dropped down upon his knees, behind some evergreen bushes.

I imitated his example, and knelt upon his right, while Garey crouched down on the left.

Our eyes were directed upon the Indian camp, of which, and the plain around it, we had a good view--as good as could be obtained under the light of a brilliant moon, alas! too brilliant!

After we had surveyed the scene for some moments in silence, the old trapper condescended to begin the conversation.

CHAPTER EIGHTY NINE.

THE TRAPPER'S COUNSEL.

"Now, Bill Garey, an you, young fellur, jest clap yur eyes on thet 'ere 'campmint, an see ef thur ain't a road leadin inter the very heart o'

it, straight as the tail o' a skeeart fox. 'Ee see it? eh?"

"Not under kiver?" replied Garey interrogatively.

"Unner kiver--ivery step o' the way--the best o' kiver."

Garey and I once more scrutinised the whole circumference of the encampment, and the ground adjacent. We could perceive no cover by which the camp could be approached. Surely there was none.

What could Rube mean? Were there clouds in the sky? Had he perceived some portent of coming darkness? and had his words reference to this?

I raised my eyes, and swept the whole canopy with inquiring glances. Up to the zenith, around the horizon--east, west, north, and south--I looked for clouds, but looked in vain. A few light cirrhi floated high in the atmosphere; but these, even when crossing the moon's disk, cast no perceptible shadow. On the contrary, they were tokens of settled weather; and moving slowly, almost fixed upon the face of the heavens, were evidence that no sudden change might be expected. When the trapper talked of entering the camp under cover, he could not have meant under cover of darkness. What then?

"Don't see ony kiver, old hoss," rejoined Garey, after a pause; "neyther bush nor weed."

"Bush!" echoed Rube--"weed! who's talkin 'bout weeds an bushes? Thur's other ways o' hidin' yur karkidge 'sides stickin' it in a bush or unner a weed. Yur a gettin' durnation'd pumpkin-headed, Bill Garey. I gin to think yur in the same purdicamint as the young fellur hisself. Yu've been a humbuggin' wi' one o' them ur Mexikin moochachers."

"No, Rube, no."

"Durn me, ef I don't b'lieve you hev, boy. I heern ye tell one o'

'em--"

"What?"

"Wagh! ye know well enuf. Didn't 'ee tell one o' 'em gurls at the rancherie that ye loved her as hard as a mule kud kick--sartintly ye did; them wur yur preezact words, Billee."

"I was only jokin', hoss."

"Putty jokin' thet ur 'll be when I gits back to Bent's Fort, and tell yur Coco squaw. He, he, he--ho, ho, hoo! Geehosophat! thur _will_ be a rumpus bumpus!"

"Nonsense, Rube; thar's nothin' ov it."

"Thur must 'a be: yur brain-pan's out o' order, Bill; ye hain't hed a clur idee for days back. Bushes! an weeds too! Wagh! who sayed thur wur bushes? Whur's yur eyes? d'yur see a _bank_?"

"A bank!" echoed Garey and I simultaneously.

"Ye-es," drawled Rube--"a bank. I guess thur's bank, right afore yur noses, ef both o' yur ain't as blind as the kittlins o' a 'possum. Now, do 'ee see it?"