Dick's brain cleared and he sat up.
"What is it, Sergeant ?" he whispered.
"I see you're all right now, Mr.Mason," the sergeant whispered back, "but be sure you don't stir." "Is it the Johnnies ?" "Lean over a little and look down into that dip." Dick did so, and saw four men hunting among the trees, and the one who seemed to be their leader was the little weazened fellow, with the great, flap-brimmed hat.
"They're looking for your trail," whispered the sergeant, "but they won't find it.

It's too dark, even for a Sioux Indian, and I've seen them do some wonderful things in trailing." "I seem to have met you in time, Sergeant." "So you did, sir, but more of that later.

Perhaps you'd better lie down again, as you're weak yet.

I'll tell you all they do." "I'll take your advice, Sergeant, but am I sound and whole?
I felt something in me break, and then the earth rose up and hit me in the face." "I reckon it was just the last ounce of breath going out of you with a pop.

They're hunting hard, Mr.Mason, but they can't pick up the trace of a footstep.