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.
Midnight, and they pulled up amid the deeper gloom of a great,
overhanging bluff, having numerous trees near its summit. There was
the glow of a distant fire upon their left, which reddened the sky, and
reflected oddly on the edges of a vast cloud-mass rolling up
threateningly from the west. Neither knew definitely where they were,
although Murphy guessed the narrow stream they had just forded might be
the upper waters of the Tongue.
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