About midnight, the trail becoming obscure, the rider made camp, confident he must have already gained heavily on the man he pursued.  He lariated his horses, and flinging himself down on some soft turf, almost immediately dropped asleep.  He was up again before daylight, and, after a hasty meal, pressed on.  The nature of the country had changed considerably, becoming more broken, the view circumscribed by towering cliffs and deep ravines.  Hampton swung forward his field-glasses, and, from the summit of every eminence, studied the topography of the country lying beyond.  He must see before being seen, and he believed he could not now be many miles in the rear of Murphy.

Late in the afternoon he reined up his horse and gazed forward into a broad valley, bounded with precipitous bluffs.  The trail, now scarcely perceptible, led directly down, winding about like some huge snake, across the lower level, toward where a considerable stream of water shone silvery in the sun, half concealed behind a fringe of willows.  Beyond doubt this was the Belle Fourche.  And yonder, close in against those distant willows, some black dots were moving.  Hampton glued his anxious eyes to the glass.  The levelled tubes clearly revealed a man on horseback, leading another horse.  The animals were walking.  There could be little doubt that this was Silent Murphy.

Hampton lariated his tired horses behind the bluff, and returned to the summit, lying flat upon the ground, with the field-glass at his eyes.  The distant figures passed slowly forward into the midst of the willows, and for half an hour the patient watcher scanned the surface of the stream beyond, but there was no sign of attempted passage.  The sun sank lower, and finally disappeared behind those desolate ridges to the westward.  Hampton’s knowledge of plains craft rendered Murphy’s actions sufficiently clear.  This was the Fourche; beyond those waters lay the terrible peril of Indian raiders.  Further advance must be made by swift, secret night riding, and never-ceasing vigilance.  This was what Murphy had been saving himself and his horses for.  Beyond conjecture, he was resting now within the shadows of those willows, studying the opposite shore and making ready for the dash northward.  Hampton believed he would linger thus for some time after dark, to see if Indian fires would afford any guidance.  Confident of this, he passed back to his horses, rubbed them down with grass, and then ate his lonely supper, not venturing to light a fire, certain that Murphy’s eyes were scanning every inch of sky-line.