"The man who had this on his person
bought his clothes from the Bristol merchants, and paid sweetly for
them. He was no Rappahannock farmer."
Shalah trailed like a bloodhound, following the hoof-marks out of the
valley meadow to a ridge of sparse cedars where they showed clear on
the bare earth, and then to a thicker covert where they were hidden
among strong grasses. Suddenly he caught my shoulder, and pulled me to
the ground. We crawled through a briery place to where a gap opened to
the vale on our left.
A party of Indians were passing. They were young men with the fantastic
markings of young braves. All were mounted on the little Indian horses.
They moved at leisure, scanning the distance with hands shading eyes.
We wormed our way back to the darkness of the covert. "The advance
guard of the second party," Shalah whispered. "With good fortune, we
shall soon see the rest pass, and then have a clear road for the
hills."
"I saw no fresh scalps," I said, "so they seem to have missed our man
on the horse." I was proud of my simple logic.
All that Shalah replied was, "The rider was a woman.'
"How, in Heaven's name, can you tell?" I asked.
He held out a long hair. "I found it among the vines at the level of a
rider's head.
Pages:
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252