ie down agin' an' make a die at oncest."

"Go which way you please, Walt; you know best. I am ready to follow
you; and I think I shall be able."

"Wal, at anyhow, we'd best be movin' off from hyar. If ye can't go a
great ways under kiver o' the night, I reck'n we kin put enough o'
parairia atween us an' these Injuns to make sure agin thar spyin' us in
the mornin'. So let's start south-eastart, an' try for the sources o'
the Red. Thur's that ole beauty o' the North Star that's been my friend
an' guide many's the good time. Thar it is, makin' the handle o' the
Plough, or the Great Bar, as I've heern that colleckshin o' stars
freekwently called. We've only to keep it on our left, a leetle torst
the back o' the shoulder, an' then we're boun' to bring out on some o'
the head-forks o' the Red--if we kin only last long enough to reach 'em.
Darn it! thar's no danger; an' anyhow, thar's no help for't but try.
Come along!"

So speaking, the guide started forward--not in full stride, but timing
his pace to suit the feeble steps of his disabled comrade.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

A LILLIPUTIAN FOREST.

Guiding their course by the stars the fugitives continue on--no longer
going in a run, nor even in a very rapid walk. Despite the resolution
with which he endeavours to nerve himself, the wounded man is still too
weak to make much progress, and he advances but laggingly. His
companion does not urge him to quicken his pace. The experienced
prairie man knows it will be better to go slowly than get broken down by
straining forward too eagerly. There is no sign or sound of Indian,
either behind or before them. The stillness of the desert is around
them--its silence only interrupted by the "whip-whip" of the
night-hawk's wings, and at intervals its soft note answering to the
shriller cry of the kid-deer plover that rises screaming before their
feet. These, with the constant skirr of the ground-crickets and the
prolonged whine of the coyote, are the only sounds that salute them as
they glide on--none of which are of a kind to cause alarm.

There appears no great reason for making haste now. They have all the
night before them, and, ere daylight can discover them, they will be
sure to find some place of concealment.

The ground is favourable to pedestrianism in the darkness. The surface,
hard-baked by the sun, is level as a set flagstone, and in most places
so smooth that a carriage could run upon it as on the drive of a