galloped
on until he was stopped only by death. Dick felt sadness and
pity.

"I hope you've gone to the horse heaven," he murmured.

Then he turned to thoughts of his own position. Alone and afoot
upon the prairie, with hostile and mounted Sioux somewhere about,
he was still in bad case. He longed now for his mountains, the
lost valley, the warm cabin, and his brother.

It was quite dark and a wind, sharp with cold, was blowing. It
came over vast wastes, and as it swept across the swells kept up
a bitter moaning sound. Dick shivered and fastened his deerskin
tunic a little tighter. He looked up at the sky. Not a star was
there, and sullen black clouds rolled very near to the earth.
The cold had a raw damp in it, and Dick feared those clouds.

Had it been day he could have seen his mountains, and he would
have made for them at once, but now his eyes did not reach a
hundred yards, and that bitter, moaning wind told him nothing
save that he must fight hard against many things if he would keep
the life that was in him. He had lost all idea of direction.
North and south, east and west were the same to him, but one must
go even if one went wrong.

He tried all his limbs again and found that they were sound. The
wound on his head had ceased to bleed and the ache was easier.
He put his rifle on his shoulder, waved, almost unconsciously, a
farewell to the horse, as one leaves the grave of a friend, and
walked swiftly away, in what course he knew not.

He felt much better with motion. The blood began to circulate
more warmly, and hope sprang up. If only that bitter, moaning
wind would cease. It was inexpressibly weird and dismal. It
seemed to Dick a song of desolation, it seemed to tell him at
times that it was not worth while to try, that, struggle as he
would, his doom was only waiting.

Dick looked up. The black clouds had sunk lower and they must
open before long. If only day were near at hand, then he might
choose the right course. Hark! Did he not hear hoof beats? He
paused in doubt, and then lay down with his ear to the earth.
Then he distinctly heard the sound, the regular tread of a horse,
urged forward in a straight course, and he knew that it could be
made only by the Sioux. But the sound indicated only one horse,
or not more than two or three at the most.

Dick's courage sprang up. Here was a real danger and not the
mysterious chill that the moaning of the wind brought to him. If
the