"You mean we should start now?"

"Better--let the cattle rest--first. An'--if ye ever feed prisoners--I

'd like ter eat a bite--mesilf."

They rested there for over two hours, the tired horses contentedly

munching the succulent grass of the coulée, their two masters

scarcely exchanging a word. Murphy, after satisfying his appetite,

rested flat upon his back, one arm flung over his eyes to protect them

from the sun. For a considerable time Hampton supposed him asleep,

until he accidentally caught the stealthy glance which followed his

slightest movement, and instantly realized that the old weasel was

alert. Murphy had been beaten, yet evidently remained unconquered,

biding his chance with savage stoicism, and the other watched him

warily even while seeming to occupy himself with the field-glass.

At last they saddled up, and, at first leading their horses, passed

down the coulée into the more precipitous depths of the narrow

canyon. This proved hardly more than a gash cut through the rolling

prairie, rock strewn, holding an insignificant stream of brackish

water, yet was an ideal hiding-place, having ample room for easy

passage between the rock walls. The men mounted, and Hampton, with a

wave of his hand, bade the old scout assume the lead.

Their early advance was slow and cautious, as they never felt certain

what hidden enemies might lurk behind the sharp corners of the winding

defile, and they kept vigilant eyes upon the serrated sky-line. The

savages were moving north, and so were they. It would be remarkably

good fortune if they escaped running into some wandering band, or if

some stray scout did not stumble upon their trail. So they continued

to plod on.

It was fully three o'clock when they attained to the bank of the

Powder, and crouched among the rocks to wait for the shades of night to

shroud their further advance. Murphy climbed the bluff for a wider

view, bearing Hampton's field-glasses slung across his shoulder, for

the latter would not leave him alone with the horses. He returned

finally to grunt out that there was nothing special in sight, except a

shifting of those smoke signals to points farther north. Then they lay

down again, Hampton smoking, Murphy either sleeping or pretending to

sleep. And slowly the shadows of another black night swept down and

shut them in.

It must have been two hours later when they ventured forth. Silence

and loneliness brooded everywhere, not so much as a breath of air

stirring the leaves. The unspeakable, unsolvable mystery of it all

rested like a weight on the spirits of both men. It, was a disquieting

thought that bands of savages, eager to discover and slay, were

stealing among the shadows of those trackless plains, and that they

must literally feel their uncertain way through the cordon, every sound

an alarm, every advancing step a fresh peril. They crossed the swift,

deep stream, and emerged dripping, chilled to the marrow by the icy

water. Then they swung stiffly into the wet saddles, and plunged, with

almost reckless abandon, through the darkness. Murphy continued to

lead, the light tread of his horse barely audible, Hampton pressing

closely behind, revolver in hand, the two pack-horses trailing in the

rear. Hampton had no confidence in his sullen, treacherous companion;

he looked for early trouble, yet he had little fear regarding any

attempt at escape now. Murphy was a plainsman, and would realize the

horror of being alone, unarmed, and without food on those demon-haunted

prairies. Besides, the silent man behind was astride the better animal.




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