"Quite sure o't; an' at most three, or may be four hour agone. See thar!" he continued, raising one of the limbs, and letting it drop again; "limber as a eel! Ef he'd a been dead last night, the leg'd been stiff long afore this." "Quite true," replied I, convinced, as was my companion, that the horse had been slaughtered that morning. This bit of knowledge was an important contribution towards fixing the time of the departure. It told the _day_. The hour was of less importance to our plans; though to that, by a further process of reasoning, we were enabled to make a very near approximation. Holt must have killed the horse before going off; and the act, as both of us believed, could not have been accomplished at a very early hour. As far as the sign enabled us to tell, not more than four hours ago; and perhaps about two, before the time of my first arrival in the clearing. Whether the squatter had left the ground immediately after the performance of this rude sacrifice, it was impossible to tell. There was no sign by which to determine the point; but the probability was, that the deed was done just upon the eve of departure; and that the slaughter of the old horse was the closing act of Holt's career in his clearing upon Mud Creek. Only one doubt remained. Was it he who had killed the animal? I had conceived a suspicion pointing to Su-wa-nee-- but without being able to attribute to the Indian any motive for the act. "No, no!" replied my comrade, in answer to my interrogatory on this head: "'twar Holt hisself, sartin. He culdn't take the old hoss along wi' him, an' he didn't want anybody else to git him. Besides, the girl hedn't no reezun to a did it. She'd a been more likely to a tuk the old critter to thar camp--seein' he war left behind wi' nobody to own him. Tho' he wan't worth more'n what the skin 'ud fetch, he'd adone for them ar Injuns well enuf, for carryin' thar traps an' things. No, 'twan't her, nor anybody else 'ceptin' Holt hisself--he did it?" "If that be so, comrade, there is still hope for us. They cannot have more than four hours the start. You say the creek has a winding course?" "Crooked as a coon's hind leg." "And the Obion?" "Most part the same. It curls through the bottom like the tail o' a cur-dog; an' nigher the Massissippy, it don't move faster than a snail 'ud crawl. I reck'n the run o' the river 'll not help 'em much. The'll hev a good spell o' paddlin' afore they git down to Massissippy; an' I hope that durned Mormon 'll blister his ugly claws at it!" "With all my heart!" I rejoined; and both of us at the same instant recognising the necessity of taking time by the forelock, we hurried back to our horses, sprang into our saddles and started along the trace conducting to the mouth of the Obion. CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN. A LOOKOUT FROM ALOFT.