We rested for an hour at midnight, on the banks of a small stream.  The sky had lightened somewhat, and we could perceive the way fairly well when we again advanced, now traveling through a more open country, a prairie, interspersed with groves of trees.  Daylight overtook us at the edge of a slough, which bordered a little lake, where in the gray dawn, Tim, by a lucky shot, managed to kill a crippled duck, which later furnished us with a meager breakfast.  In the security of a near-by cluster of trees, we ventured to build a fire, and, sitting about it, discussed whether to remain there, or press on.  It was an ideal spot for a camp, elevated enough to afford a wide view in every direction.  No one could approach unseen, and thus far we had no evidence that our pursuers were even on our trail.  Only the crack of that single rifle shot the evening before had suggested that we were being followed—­yet, even if this were true, the black hours since would have prevented any discovery of the direction of our night.  Not even an Indian tracker could have picked up our trail amid that darkness.  So it was decided to remain where we were, and rest.

I need not dwell on the details of our flight.  They remain in my memory in all clearness, each scene distinct, each incident a picture engraved on the mind.  I came to believe in, implicitly rely on, all my comrades—­on the black-eyed, dusky Elsie, emotional and efficient, whose care-free laugh was contagious, and whose marvelous skill in cooking only increased our hunger, who knew every wild plant that grew, and unearthed many a treasure to help out our slim larder from the forest and prairie soil; on the solemn-faced Kennedy, whose profanity could not be restrained, and whose sole happiness was found in an ample supply of tobacco; who persistently saw only the dark side of things, yet who was ever competent, tireless, and full of resource; but most of all on Eloise, her patient, trustful eyes following my every movement, uncomplaining, cheerful, with a smile for every hardship, a bright word of hope for every obstacle.  In the darkness of night travel, when no eye could see her, she might droop from weariness, clinging to her pommel to keep in the saddle, yet it was always her voice which revived courage, and inspired new endeavor.

The way was generally rough and puzzling, bringing before us no familiar landmarks by which to guide our course.  My map proved utterly useless, confusing me by its wrong location of streams, and its inaccuracy in the estimation of distances.  We must have wandered far to the north from our direct course, led astray in the dark, and by our desire to advance swiftly.  For there soon came to us warning signs that we were indeed being pursued; and some evidence also that we were even within Indian territory.  Once we beheld from an eminence the wisp of a camp fire far in our rear, a mere misty curl of smoke showing against the distant blue of the sky.  And once, from out the shadow of a grove, we stared perplexed across a wide valley, to where appeared a dim outline of bluffs, and watched a party of five horsemen creep slowly along their summit, too far away to be recognized—­mere black dots, we could not identify as either white men, or red.