Murphy promptly gave
his horse the spur, never once glancing behind, while the other
imitated his example, holding his animal well in check, being
apparently the better mounted.
They rode silently. The unshod hoofs made little noise, but a loosened
canteen tinkled on Murphy's led horse, and he halted to fix it,
uttering a curse. The way became more broken and rough as they
advanced, causing them to exercise greater caution. Murphy clung to
the hollows, apparently guided by some primitive instinct to choose the
right path, or else able, like a cat, to see the way through the gloom,
his beacon a huge rock to the northward. Silently hour after hour,
galloping, trotting, walking, according to the ground underfoot, the
two pressed grimly forward, with the unerring skill of the border, into
the untracked wilderness. Flying clouds obscured the stars, yet
through the rifts they caught fleeting glimpses sufficient to hold them
to their course. And the encroaching hills swept in closer upon either
hand, leaving them groping their way between as in a pocket, yet ever
advancing north.
Finally they attained to the steep bank of a considerable stream, found
the water of sufficient depth to compel swimming, and crept up the
opposite shore dripping and miserable, yet with ammunition dry.
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