He knelt down beside Murphy, unbuckled the leather despatch-bag, and rebuckled it across his own shoulder.  Then he set to work to revive the prostrate man.  The eyes, when opened, stared up at him, wild and glaring; the ugly face bore the expression of abject fear.  The man was no longer violent; he had become a child, frightened at the dark.  His ceaseless babbling, his incessant cries of terror, only rendered more precarious any attempt at pressing forward through a region overrun with hostiles.  But Hampton had resolved.

Securely strapping Murphy to his saddle, and packing all their remaining store of provisions upon one horse, leaving the other to follow or remain behind as it pleased, he advanced directly into the hills, steering by aid of the stars, his left hand ever on Murphy’s bridle rein, his low voice of expostulation seeking to calm the other’s wild fancies and to curb his violent speech.  It was a weird, wild ride through the black night, unknown ground under foot, unseen dangers upon every hand.  Murphy’s aberrations changed from shrieking terror to a wild, uncontrollable hilarity, with occasional outbursts of violent anger, when it required all Hampton’s iron will and muscle to conquer him.

At dawn they were in a narrow gorge among the hills, a dark and gloomy hole, yet a peculiarly safe spot in which to hide, having steep, rocky ledges on either side, with sufficient grass for the horses.  Leaving Murphy bound, Hampton clambered up the front of the rock to where he was able to look out.  All was silent, and his heart sank as he surveyed the brown sterile hills stretching to the horizon, having merely narrow gulches of rock and sand between, the sheer nakedness of the picture unrelieved by green shrub or any living thing.  Then, almost despairing, he slid back, stretched himself out amid the soft grass, and sank into the slumber of exhaustion, his last conscious memory the incoherent babbling of his insane companion.

He awoke shortly after noon, feeling refreshed and renewed in both body and mind.  Murphy was sleeping when he first turned to look at him, but he awoke in season to be fed, and accepted the proffered food with all the apparent delight of a child.  While he rested, their remaining pack-animal had strayed, and Hampton was compelled to go on with only the two horses, strapping the depleted store of provisions behind his own saddle.  Then he carefully hoisted Murphy into place and bound his feet beneath the animal’s belly, the poor fellow gibbering at him, in appearance an utter imbecile, although exhibiting periodic flashes of malignant passion.  Then he resumed the journey down one of those sand-strewn depressions pointing toward the Rosebud, pressing the refreshed ponies into a canter, confident now that their greatest measure of safety lay in audacity.

Apparently his faith in the total desertion of these “bad lands” by the Indians was fully justified, for they continued steadily mile after mile, meeting with no evidence of life anywhere.  Still the travelling was good, with here and there little streams of icy water trickling over the rocks.  They made most excellent progress, Hampton ever grasping the bit of Murphy’s horse, his anxious thought more upon his helpless companion in misery than upon the possible perils of the route.