e was
physically a fearless desperado. Hampton had known such cases before;
he had seen men laugh scornfully before the muzzle of a levelled gun,
and yet tremble when pointed at by the finger of accusation. He had
lived sufficiently long on the frontier to know that men may become
inured to that special form of danger to which they have grown
accustomed through repetition, and yet fail to front the unknown and
mysterious. Perhaps here might be discovered Murphy's weak point.
Without doubt the man was guilty of crime; that its memory continued to
haunt him was rendered evident by his hiding in Glencaid, and by his
desperate attempt to kill Hampton. That knife-thrust must have been
given with the hope of thus stopping further investigation; it alone
was sufficient proof that Murphy's soul was haunted by fear.

"Conscience doth make cowards of us all." These familiar words floated
in Hampton's memory, seeming to attune themselves to the steady gallop
of his horse. They appealed to him as a direct message of guidance.
The night was already dark, but stars were gleaming brilliantly
overhead, and the trail remained easily traceable. It became terribly
lonely on that wilderness stretching away for unknown leagues in every
direction, yet Hampton scarcely noted this, so watchful was he lest he
miss the trail. To his judgment, Murphy would not be likely to ride
during the night until after he had crossed the Fourche. There was no
reason to suspect that there were any hostile Indians south of that
stream, and probably therefore the old scout would endeavor to conserve
his own strength and that of his horses, for the more perilous travel
beyond. Hampton hastened on, his eyes peering anxiously ahead into the
steadily increasing gloom.

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 afte