"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.