I was once more alone on the prairie.  The sky was cloudless, but the starlight struggling through a thin haze suggested rather than revealed surrounding objects.  I bent over my horse’s shoulder to trace the course of the road; but I could see nothing.  There were no trees, no fences.  I listened for the rustling of the wind over the prairie-grass; but as soon as Spitfire stopped, I found that not a breath of air was stirring:  his motion had created the breeze.  I turned a little to the left, and at once felt the Mexican stirrup strike against the long, rank grass.  Quite exultant with the thought that I had found a certain test that I was in the road, I turned back and regained the beaten track.  But now a new difficulty arose.  At once the thought suggested itself,—­“Perhaps I turned the wrong way when I came back into the road, and am now going away from my destination.”  I drew up and looked around me.  There was nothing to be seen except the veiled stars above, and upon either hand a vast dark expanse, which might be a lake, the sea, or a desert, for anything I could discern.  I listened:  there was no sound except the deep breathing of my faithful horse, who stood with ears erect, eagerly snuffing the night-air.  I had heard that horses can see better than men.  “Let me try the experiment.”  I gave Spitfire his head.  He moved across the road, went out upon the prairie a little distance, waded into a brook which I had not seen, and began to drink.  When he had finished, he returned to the road without the least hesitation.

“The horse can certainly see better than I. Perhaps I am the only one of this company who is in trouble, and the good beast is all this while perfectly composed and at ease, and knows quite well where to go.”

I loosened the reins.  Spitfire went forward slowly, apparently quite confident, and yet cautious about the stones in his path.

I now began to speculate upon the distance I had come.  I thought,—­“It is some time since we started.  Head-quarters were only five miles off.  I rode fast at first.  It is strange there are no campfires in sight.”

Time is measured by sensation, and with me minutes were drawn out into hours.  “Surely, it is midnight.  I have been here three hours at the least.  The road must have forked, and I have gone the wrong way.  The most sagacious of horses could not be expected to know which of two roads to take.  There is nothing to be done.  I am in for the night, and had better stay here than go farther in the wrong direction.”

I dismount, fill my pipe, and strike a light.  I laugh at my thoughtlessness, and another match is lighted to look at my watch, which tells me I have been on the road precisely twenty minutes.  I mount.  Spitfire seems quite composed, perhaps a little astonished at the unusual conduct of his rider, but he walks on composedly, carefully avoiding the rolling stones.