The tracks of a shod pony satisfied us that we were on the trail of
Chiquita and her Navajo rider. The boy had kept well down in the
ravines and depressions, in order to screen himself from observation
and possible pursuers. We, however, were not obliged to follow his
tracks; Vic did that, and we took the general direction from her,
cutting across turnings and windings, and making much better progress
than the thief could have done.
An hour's ride brought us to the bluff behind which I had seen an
object disappear. Vic turned it and began to ascend the almost dry bed
of the stream, in the bottom of which I could see occasional
depressions at regular distances, as if made by a horse at a trot.
Soon the brook enlarged, becoming a flowing stream, and the tracks
were no longer visible.
That the brook flowed from the _cienaga_, or marsh, where the Navajos
were rendezvoused, was an easy inference. The Indian boy was
endeavoring to reach that place with the stolen pony. Directing Frank
to keep up the left side of the stream, and to look for tracks
indicating that Chiquita had left its bed, I took the right side and
hastened on.
Pages:
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108