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.
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