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.
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