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.