The sudden flashing of that name into his brain was like an electric
shock. He cursed his inactivity. Great God! had he become a child
again, to tremble before imagined evil, a mere hobgoblin of the mind?
He had already wasted time enough; now he must wring from the lips of
that misshapen savage the last vestige of his secret.
The animal within him sprang to fierce life. God! he would prove as
wary, as cunning, as relentless as ever was Indian on the trail.
Murphy would never suspect at this late day that he was being tracked.
That was well. Tireless, fearless, half savage as the scout
undoubtedly was, one fully his equal was now at his heels, actuated by
grim, relentless purpose. Hampton moved rapidly in preparation. He
dressed for the road, for hard, exacting service, buckling his loaded
cartridge-belt outside his rough coat, and testing his revolvers with
unusual care. He spoke a few parting words of instruction to Mrs.
Guffy, and went quietly out. Ten minutes later he was in the saddle,
galloping down the dusty stage road toward Cheyenne.