About midnight, the trail becoming obscure, the rider made camp,
confident he must have already gained heavily on the man he pursued.
He lariated his horses, and flinging himself down on some soft turf,
almost immediately dropped asleep. He was up again before daylight,
and, after a hasty meal, pressed on. The nature of the country had
changed considerably, becoming more broken, the view circumscribed by
towering cliffs and deep ravines. Hampton swung forward his
field-glasses, and, from the summit of every eminence, studied the
topography of the country lying beyond. He must see before being seen,
and he believed he could not now be many miles in the rear of Murphy.
Late in the afternoon he reined up his horse and gazed forward into a
broad valley, bounded with precipitous bluffs. The trail, now scarcely
perceptible, led directly down, winding about like some huge snake,
across the lower level, toward where a considerable stream of water
shone silvery in the sun, half concealed behind a fringe of willows.
Beyond doubt this was the Belle Fourche. And yonder, close in against
those distant willows, some black dots were moving. Hampton glued his
anxious eyes to the glass. The levelled tubes clearly revealed a man
on horseback, leading another horse. The animals were walking. There
could be little doubt that this was Silent Murphy.
Hampton lariated his tired horses behind the bluff, and returned to the
summit, lying flat upon the ground, with the field-glass at his eyes.
The distant figures passed slowly forward into the midst of the
willows, and for half an hour the patient watcher scanned the surface
of the stream beyond, but there was no sign of attempted passage. The
sun sank lower, and finally disappeared behind those desolate ridges to
the westward. Hampton's knowledge of plains craft rendered Murphy's
actions sufficiently clear. This was the Fourche; beyond those waters
lay the terrible peril of Indian raiders. Further advance must be made
by swift, secret night riding, and never-ceasing vigilance. This was
what Murphy had been saving himself and his horses for. Beyond
conjecture, he was resting now within the shadows of those willows,
studying the opposite shore and making ready for the dash northward.
Hampton believed he would linger thus for some time after dark, to see
if Indian fires would afford any guidance. Confident of this, he
passed back to his horses, rubbed them down with grass, and then ate
his lonely supper, not venturing to light a fire, certain that Murphy's
eyes were scanning every inch of sky-line.
Darkness came rapidly, while Hampton sat planning again the details of
his night's work. The man's spirits became depressed by the gloom and
the silence. Evil fancies haunted his brain. His mind dwelt upon the
past, upon that wrong which had wrecked his life, upon the young girl
he had left praying for his safe return, upon that miserable creature
skulking yonder in the black night. Hampton could not remember when he
had ever performed such an act before, nor could he have explained why
he did so then, yet he prayed--prayed for the far-off Naida, and for
personal guidance in the stern work lying before him. And when he rose
to his feet and groped his way to the horses, there remained no spirit
of vengeance in his heart, no hatred, merely a cool resolve to succeed
in his strange quest. So, the two animals trailing cautiously behind,
he felt his slow way on foot down the steep bluff, into the denser
blackness of the valley.