He seemed suddenly to collapse, and the stranger permitted him to drop limp to the earth.

“Darn if I kin see anythin’, old man, but I ’ll scout ’round thar a bit, jest ter ease yer mind, an’ see what I kin skeer up.”

He had hardly taken a half-dozen steps before Murphy called after him:  “Don’t—­don’t go an’ leave me—­it’s not there now—­thet’s queer!”

The other returned and stood gazing down upon his huddled figure.  “You’re a fine scout! afeard o’ spooks.  Do ye take these yere turns often?  Fer if ye do, I reckon as how I ‘d sooner be ridin’ alone.”

Murphy struggled to his feet and gripped the other’s arm.  “Never hed nuthin’ like it—­afore.  But—­but it was thar—­all creepy—­an’ green—­ain’t seen thet face—­in fifteen year.”

“What face?”

“A—­a fellow I knew—­once.  He—­he’s dead.”

The other grunted, disdainfully.  “Bad luck ter see them sort,” he volunteered, solemnly.  “Blame glad it warn’t me es see it, an’ I don’t know as I keer much right now ‘bout keepin’ company with ye fer very long.  However, I reckon if either of us calculates on doin’ much ridin’ ternight, we better stop foolin’ with ghosts, an’ go ter saddlin’ up.”

They made rapid work of it, the newcomer proving somewhat loquacious, yet holding his voice to a judicious whisper, while Murphy relapsed into his customary sullen silence, but continued peering about nervously.  It was he who led the way down the bank, the four horses slowly splashing through the shallow water to the northern shore.  Before them stretched a broad plain, the surface rocky and uneven, the northern stars obscured by ridges of higher land.  Murphy promptly gave his horse the spur, never once glancing behind, while the other imitated his example, holding his animal well in check, being apparently the better mounted.

They rode silently.  The unshod hoofs made little noise, but a loosened canteen tinkled on Murphy’s led horse, and he halted to fix it, uttering a curse.  The way became more broken and rough as they advanced, causing them to exercise greater caution.  Murphy clung to the hollows, apparently guided by some primitive instinct to choose the right path, or else able, like a cat, to see the way through the gloom, his beacon a huge rock to the northward.  Silently hour after hour, galloping, trotting, walking, according to the ground underfoot, the two pressed grimly forward, with the unerring skill of the border, into the untracked wilderness.  Flying clouds obscured the stars, yet through the rifts they caught fleeting glimpses sufficient to hold them to their course.  And the encroaching hills swept in closer upon either hand, leaving them groping their way between as in a pocket, yet ever advancing north.

Finally they attained to the steep bank of a considerable stream, found the water of sufficient depth to compel swimming, and crept up the opposite shore dripping and miserable, yet with ammunition dry.  Murphy stood swearing disjointedly, wiping the blood from a wound in his forehead where the jagged edge of a rock had broken the skin, but suddenly stopped with a quick intake of breath that left him panting.  The other man crept toward him, leading his horse.