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<h3>Chapter One Hundred Three.</h3> <h4>Seeking a Cache.</h4> We rode direct for Robideau’s Pass. The night still continued dark, but we had no difficulty in finding our way. Even in the obscurity, the deep trace of the heavy emigrant train was sufficiently conspicuous; and we were enabled to follow the back-track with precision. Our experienced guide could have conducted us over it blindfold. That we were pursued, and hotly pursued, there could be little doubt. For my part, I felt certain of it. The stake which Stebbins had hitherto held, was too precious to be parted with on slight conditions. The jealous vigilance with which Lilian had been guarded along the route—amounting, as I had incidentally ascertained, to a positive espionage—her yellow duenna at once acting as spy and protectress—all were significant of the intent already suspected by us, but of which the young girl herself was perhaps happily ignorant. The failure of his design—and now for the second time—would be a rude contre-temps for the pseudo-apostle; and would no doubt endanger his expected promotion. Besides, he must have believed or suspected, that Marian Holt still lived; that she had survived the exposure consequent on her escape from the first caravan; and this belief or suspicion would now be confirmed by the reappearance of the dog. Nay, it was almost certain, that on recognising the animal, the truth had suddenly flashed upon him, that Marian was herself upon the ground; and that the spotted countenance that had for the moment deceived him, was that of his Tennessean bride. The abduction following upon the instant would not only confirm this belief, but would redouble his eagerness in a pursuit that promised a recapture of both the victims, who had thus unexpectedly escaped from his control. Though with different motives, it was natural that Holt himself should be equally eager to pursue. He might still know nothing about the presence of Marian or her disguise. To him it would simply appear that his other child had been stolen from the camp—carried off by Indians—and that should be sufficient to rouse him to the most strenuous efforts for her recovery. For these reasons we had no doubt about our being pursued; and with all the zeal and energy of which our apostolic enemy and his myrmidons were capable of putting forth. Twenty miles separated the Mormon camp from the entrance to Robideau’s Pass. Nearly the whole of that distance we traversed at a gallop. So far we had experienced no apprehension; but, after entering the pass, our foaming horses began to show signs of fatigue. Those of Sure-shot and Wingrove, that were weaker than the rest, manifested symptoms of giving out. Both were evidently broken, and without rest could go no further. This produced a new uneasiness. We presumed that the horses of our pursuers would be comparatively fresh—after their long rest at their encampment—while ours had not only made a considerable journey the day before, but on that same day had passed over fifty miles of ground—twenty of it in a gallop! No wonder they were manifesting signs of distress. Shortly after entering the pass, we drew up to deliberate. By continuing onward, we should be almost certain to be overtaken. This was the more probable, from the keen pursuit we had reason to anticipate. To remain where we were, would be to await the coming up of the enemy—no doubt in such numbers as to render our capture secure; and any attempt to defend ourselves would be idle as fatal. It was no longer with Indians we should have to deal—no longer with lances and arrows—but with strong bold men, armed like ourselves, and far outnumbering us. To conceal ourselves within the gorge, and permit our pursuers to pass, might have served our purpose for the time—had there been sufficient cover. But neither the rocks nor trees offered an advantageous hiding-place for our horses. The risk of their being discovered appeared too great. We dared not trust to such a slight chance of security. Within the pass, it was not possible to part from the trail; and on discovering the condition of our horses, we regretted not having left it before entering. We even entertained the question of returning some distance: since we might leave the trail by ascending a spur of the mountains in our rear. But this course appeared too perilous. Perhaps at that moment our pursuers might be entering the pass? Perhaps at that moment “adown the glen rode armed men”—though as yet our ears were not assailed by the sound of their trampling. Fortunately, in this moment of hesitancy, a thought occurred to our Mexican comrade, that promised to release us from the dilemma. It was a memory that had suddenly flashed upon him. He remembered, on one of his trapping expeditions, having discovered a ravine that led out of Robideau’s Pass on the northern side. It was a mere cleft cliff—just wide enough to admit the body of a man on horseback—but further up, it opened into a little plain or vallon, as the Mexican termed it, completely girt in by mountains. These on all sides rose so precipitously from the plain, as to render it impossible for a mounted man to scale them. The trapper had himself been obliged to return by the gorge—after having vainly endeavoured to find a way leading outward above. The vallon was therefore a cul-de-sac; or, as the trapper in his native synonyme called it, a bolson. Our guide was of opinion that this bolson would serve as a hiding-place, until we could rest our horses. He was confident that the entrance of the ravine was not far from where we had halted; and, moreover, that he should be able to find it without difficulty. His advice, therefore, was, that we should seek the gorge; and, having found it, ride up into the vallon, and there remain, till the following night. The pursuit might pass in the meantime, and return again; but whether or not, our animals would then be rested; and even should we again encounter the pursuers we might hope to escape, through the superior speed of our horses. The plan was feasible. There was but one objection that struck me; and I offered it for the consideration of our guide. The vallon as he had stated, was a cul-de-sac. Should we be tracked into it, there would be no chance of retreat: we should be taken as in a trap? “Carrambo!” exclaimed the Mexican, in answer to my suggestion, “no fear of being tracked by such curs as they. They know nothing of that business. Not one of their whole fraternity could follow the trace of a buffalo in snow-time. Carrambo! No.” “There is one who could,” I replied; “one who could follow a feebler trail than ours.” “What! A rastreador among these Judios! Who, cavallero?” “Their father!” I whispered the reply, so that neither of the girls should overhear it. “Oh! true,” muttered the Mexican—“the father of the huntress—a hunter himself? Carrai! that’s like enough. But no matter. I can take you up the gorge in such fashion, that the most skilled rastreador of the prairies would never suspect we had passed through. Fortunately, the ground is favourable. The bottom of the little cañon is covered with cut rocks. The hoof will leave no mark upon these.” “Remember that some of our horses are shod: the iron will betray us?” “No, señor, we shall muffle them: nos vamos con los pies en medias!” (Let us travel in stockings!) The idea was not new to me; and without further hesitation, we proceeded to carry it into execution. With pieces of blanket, and strips cut from our buckskin garments, we muffled the hoofs of our shod horses; and after following the waggon-trail, till we found a proper place for parting from it, we diverged in an oblique direction, towards the bluff that formed the northern boundary of the pass. Along this bluff we followed the guide in silence; and, after going for a quarter of a mile further, we had the satisfaction to see him turn to the left, and suddenly disappear from our sight—as if he had ridden into the face of the solid rock! We might have felt astonishment; but a dark chasm at the same instant came under our eyes, and we knew it was the ravine of which our guide had spoken. Without exchanging a word, we turned our horses’ heads, and rode up into the cleft. There was water running among the shingle, over which our steeds trampled; but it was shallow, and did not hinder their advance. It would further aid in concealing their tracks—should our pursuers succeed in tracing us from the main route. But we had little apprehension of their doing this: so carefully had we concealed our trail on separating from that of the waggons. On reaching the little vallon, we no longer thought of danger; but, riding on to its upper end, dismounted, and made the best arrangements that circumstances would admit of for passing the remainder of the night. Wrapped in buffalo-robes, and a little apart from the rest of our party, the sisters reclined side by side under the canopy of a cotton-wood tree. Long while had it been since these beautiful forms had reposed so near each other; and the soft low murmur of their voices—heard above the sighing of the breeze, and the rippling sound of the mountain rills—admonished us that each was confiding to the other the sweet secret of her bosom! <hr /></div> <div class="bodytext"> <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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