als the great brown beard of the guide sweeps his left
shoulder, as he casts anxious glances behind him. They are all the more
anxious on observing--which he now does--that his fellow-fugitive flags
in his pace, and shows signs of giving out.

With a quick comprehension, and without any questions asked, Wilder
understands the reason. In the smoke-cloud that covered their retreat
from the corralled waggons--afterwards in the sombre shadow of the
chine, and the obscurity of the cave, he had not observed what now, in
the bright glare of the sunlight, is too plainly apparent--that the
nether garments of his comrade are saturated with blood.

Hamersley has scarce noticed it himself, and his attention is now called
to it, less from perceiving any acute pain than that he begins to feel
faint and feeble. Blood is oozing through the breast of his shirt,
running down the legs of his trousers, and on into his boots. And the
fountain from which it proceeds is fast disclosing itself by an aching
pain in his side, which increases as he strides on.

A moment's pause to examine it. When the vest and shirt are opened it
is seen that a bullet has passed through his left side, causing only a
flesh wound, but cutting an artery in its course. Scratched and torn in
several other places, for the time equally painful, he had not yet
perceived this more serious injury.

It is not mortal, nor likely to prove so. The guide and hunter, like
most of his calling, is a rough practical surgeon; and after giving the
wound a hurried examination, pronounces it "only a scratch," then urges
his companion onward.

Again starting, they proceed at the same quick pace; but before they
have made another mile the wounded man feels his weakness sensibly
overcoming him. Then the rapid run is succeeded by a slow dog-trot,
soon decreasing to a walk, at length ending in a dead stop.

"I can go no farther, Walt; not if all the devils of hell were at my
heels. I've done my best. If they come after you keep on, and leave
me."

"Niver, Frank Hamersley, niver! Walt Wilder ain't the man to sep'rate
from a kumrade, and leave him in a fix that way. If ye must pull up, so
do this child. An' I see ye must; thar's no behelp for it."

"I cannot go a step farther."

"Enuf! But don't let's stan' to be seen miles off. Squat's the word.
Down on yer belly, like a toad under a harrer. Thar's jest a
resemblance o' kiver, hyar 'mong these tussocks o' buffler-gr