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<h3>Chapter Forty Two.</h3> <h4>A Foot of thirteen Inches.</h4> 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 as cunnin’ as a kupple o’ possums, they can’t a hide the track o’ the berra; an’ so long’s they keep in the timber, I kalklate I kin lift thar trail. I reck’n I ain’t quite forgot how: though I am bamfoozled a bit by these hyar parairies—consarn them! Ah! them woods, capt’n! it diz one good to look at ’em!” The eyes of the young hunter sparkled with enthusiasm as he spoke. It was a real forest that was before us—a large tract covered with gigantic cotton-wood trees, and the only thing deserving the name of forest we had seen for many days. As my companion stood gazing upon it, I could trace upon his countenance a joyous expression, that rarely appeared there. The sight of the “Big Timbers” recalled to him the forests of his own Tennessee—with happy memories of other times. They were not unmingled with shadows of regret: as I could tell by the change that came stealing over his features. “We must try to overtake them,” said I, without answering to the ebullition. “It is important for us to come up with them. Even if they be deserters, they are white men; and all whites are friends here. They muster two guns; and if these fellows are what I take them to be, they know how to handle them. We must follow them: there’s no time to be lost.” “Ye’re right thar, capt’n! The night’s a comin’ down fast. It’s a’ready gettin’ dark; an’ I’m afeerd it’ll be tough trackin’ under the timber. If we’re to catch up wi’ them the night, we hain’t a minnit to spare.” “Let us forward then!” Crossing the ridge, we descended rapidly on the other side—the track of the wheel guiding us in a direct line to the nearest point of the woods. We could tell that the barrow had been trundled down the hill at top speed—by the manner in which the iron tire had abraded the surface of the slope. We had no difficulty in following the trace as far as the edge of the timber, and for some distance into it: but there, to our great surprise, the wheel-track abruptly ended! It was not that we had lost it by its having passed over dry or rocky ground. On the contrary, around the spot where it so suddenly disappeared, the surface was comparatively soft; and even an empty barrow would have made an impression sufficiently traceable, either by my companion or myself. After beating about for some time, and extending our circle to the distance of a hundred yards or so, we failed to recover the sign. Certainly the barrow had not gone farther—at all events, not upon its trundle. Instinctively, we turned our eyes upward—not with any superstitious belief that the fugitives had made a sudden ascent into the air. But the idea had occurred to us, that they might have hidden themselves in a tree, and drawn the barrow up into it. A single glance was sufficient to satisfy us that this conjecture was erroneous. The thin foliage of the cotton-woods offered no cover. A squirrel could hardly have concealed itself among their branches. “I’ve got it!” exclaimed the hunter, once more seeking along the surface. “Hyar’s thar tracks; tho’ thar ain’t no signs of the berra. I see how they’ve blinded us. By gosh! thar a kupple o’ cunnin’ old coons, whosomever they be.” “How have they managed it?” “Tuk up the machine on thar shoulders, an’ toted it thataway! See! thar’s thar own tracks! They’ve gone out hyar—atween these two trees.” “Right, comrade—that appears to be the way they’ve done it. Sure enough there is the direction they have taken.” “Well! ef I wan’t bothered wi’ these hyar animals, I ked follow them tracks easy enough. We’d soon kum upon the wheel agin, I reck’n: they ain’t a-goin’ to travel fur, wi’ a hump like thet on thar shoulders.” “No; it’s not likely.” “Wal, then, capt’n, s’pose we leave our critters hyar, an’ take arter ’em afut? We kin quarter the groun’ a good bit ahead; an I guess we’ll eyther kum on them or thar berra afore long.” I agreed to this proposal; and, after securing our four quadrupeds to trees, we started off into the depth of the woods. Only for a short distance were we able to make out the footsteps of the men: for they had chosen the dry sward to walk upon. In one place, where the path was bare of grass, their tracks were distinctly outlined; and a minute examination of them assured me of the correctness of my conjecture—that we were trailing a brace of runaways from a military post. There was no mistaking the print of the “regulation” shoe. Its shape was impressed upon my memory as plainly as in the earth before my eyes; and it required no quartermaster to recognise the low, ill-rounded heel and flat pegged soles. I identified them at a glance; and saw, moreover, that the feet of both the fugitives were encased in the same cheap chaussure. Only in size did the tracks differ; and in this so widely, that the smaller was little more than two-thirds the length of the larger one! The latter was remarkable for size—not so much in its breadth as length, which last was not less than thirteen standard inches! On noting this peculiarity, my companion uttered an exclamation of astonishment. “Thar’s a fut, an’ no mistake!” cried he. “I reck’n ’twar Long-legs as made them tracks. Well! ef I hedn’t seed the man hisself, I’d a swore thar war giants in these parts!” I made no reply, though far more astonished than he. My astonishment sprang from a different source; and was mixed up in my mind with some old memories. I remembered the foot! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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