Then he carefully hoisted Murphy into place and bound his
feet beneath the animal's belly, the poor fellow gibbering at him, in
appearance an utter imbecile, although exhibiting periodic flashes of
malignant passion. Then he resumed the journey down one of those
sand-strewn depressions pointing toward the Rosebud, pressing the
refreshed ponies into a canter, confident now that their greatest
measure of safety lay in audacity.
Apparently his faith in the total desertion of these "bad lands" by the
Indians was fully justified, for they continued steadily mile after
mile, meeting with no evidence of life anywhere. Still the travelling
was good, with here and there little streams of icy water trickling
over the rocks. They made most excellent progress, Hampton ever
grasping the bit of Murphy's horse, his anxious thought more upon his
helpless companion in misery than upon the possible perils of the route.
It was already becoming dusk when they swept down into a little nest of
green trees and grass. It appeared so suddenly, and was such an
unexpected oasis amid that surrounding wilderness, that Hampton gave
vent to a sudden exclamation of delight.
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