park.
Well for them it is so. Had the path been a rugged one the wounded man
would not go far before giving out. Even as it is, the toil soon begins
to tell on his wasted strength. His veins are almost emptied of blood.

Nor do they proceed a very great distance before again coming to a halt;
though far enough to feel sure that, standing erect, they cannot be
descried by any one who may have ascended the cliff at the place where
they took departure from it.

But they have also reached that which offers them a chance of
concealment--in short, a forest. It is a forest not discernible at more
than a mile's distance, for the trees that compose it are "shin oaks,"
the tallest rising to the height of only eighteen inches above the
surface of the ground. Eighteen inches is enough to conceal the body of
a man lying in a prostrate attitude; and as the Lilliputian trees grow
thick as jimson weeds, the cover will be a secure one. Unless the
pursuers should stray so close as to tread upon them, there will be no
danger of their being seen. Further reflection has by this time
satisfied them that the Indians are not upon the upper plain. It is not
likely, after the pains they had taken to smoke them in the cave and
afterwards shut them up. Besides, the distribution of the spoils would
be an attraction sure to draw them back to the waggons, and speedily.

Becoming satisfied that there is no longer a likelihood of their being
pursued across the plain, Wilder proposes that they again make stop;
this time to obtain sleep, which in their anxiety during their previous
spell of rest they did not attempt. He makes the proposal out of
consideration for his comrade, who for some time, as he can see, has
evidently been hard pressed to keep up with him.

"We kin lie by till sun-up," says Walt; "an' then, if we see any sign o'
pursoot, kin stay hyar till the sun goes down agin. These shin oaks
will gie us kiver enuf. Squatted, there'll be no chance o' thar
diskiverin' us, unless they stumble right atop o' us." His companion is
not in the mood to make objection, and the two lay themselves along the
earth. The miniature forest not only gives them the protection of a
screen but a soft bed, as the tiny trunks and leaf-laden branches become
pressed down beneath their bodies.

They remain awake only long enough to give Hamersley's wound such
dressing as the circumstances permit, and then both sink into slumber.

With the young prair