Bob Hampton of Placer - Page 177/205

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.