ass; an'
this child ain't the most inconspicerousest objeck on the plain. Let's
squat on our breast-ribs, an' lay close as pancakes."

Whilst speaking he throws himself to the earth, flat on his face.

Hamersley, already tottering, drops down by his side; as he does so,
leaving the plain, as far as the eye can reach, without salient object
to intercept the vision--any more than might be seen on the surface of a
sleeping ocean.

It is in favour of the fugitives that the day has now well declined.
But they do not remain long in their recumbent position before the sun,
sinking behind the western horizon, gives them an opportunity of once
more getting upon their feet.

They do so, glad to escape from a posture whose restraint is exceedingly
irksome. They have suffered from the hot atmosphere rising like caloric
from the parched plain. But now that the sun had gone down, a cool
breeze begins to play over its surface, fanning them to fresh energy.
Besides, the night closing over them--the moon not yet up--has removed
the necessity for keeping any longer in concealment, and they proceed
onward without fear. Hamersley feels as if fresh blood had been infused
into his veins; and he is ready to spring to his feet at the same time
as his comrade.

"Frank! d'ye think ye kin go a little furrer now?" is the interrogatory
put by the hunter.

"Yes, Walt; miles further," is the response. "I feel as if I could walk
across the grandest spread of prairie."

"Good!" ejaculates the guide. "I'm glad to hear you talk that way. If
we kin but git a wheen o' miles atween us an' them yelpin' savages, we
may hev a chance o' salvation yit. The wust o' the thing air, that we
don't know which way to go. It's a toss up 'tween 'em. If we turn back
torst the Canadyen, we may meet 'em agin, an' right in the teeth.
Westart lies the settlement o' the Del Nort; but we mout come on the
same Injuns by goin' that direckshun. I'm not sartin they're Tenawas.
Southart this Staked Plain hain't no endin' till ye git down to the
Grand River below its big bend, an' that ain't to be thort o'. By
strikin' east, a little southart, we mout reach the head sources o' the
Loozyany Red; an' oncest on a stream o' runnin' water, this child kin
generally navigate down it, provided he hev a rifle, powder, an' a
bullet or two in his pouch. Thank the Almighty Lord, we've stuck to
your gun through the thick an' the thin o't. Ef we hedn't we mout jest
as well l