NIGHT AND MORNING.
By this time the snow lay to the depth of several inches on the earth.
It was still falling, and the cold was increasing. The flakes were
slighter, and there were fewer of them. His knowledge of the weather
told the rancher that the fall would cease after a while, with a still
further lowering of the temperature. Thanks, however, to the
thoughtfulness of his wife more than himself, they were so plentifully
provided with blankets and extra garments that they were not likely to
suffer any inconvenience from that cause.
Fortunately for them and greatly to their relief, the stretch of prairie
which they had struck continued comparatively level. Occasionally they
ascended a slight elevation or rode down a declivity, but in no case for
more than two hours was either so steep that the ponies changed their
gait from the easy swinging canter to a walk.
Once, after riding down a slight decline, they struck another stream,
but it was little more than a brook, so strait that a dozen steps
brought them out on the other side with little more than the wetting of
their animals' hoofs.
They rode side by side, for the mare was as fleet and enduring as the
horse. Now and then they glanced back, but saw nothing to cause alarm,
and hope became stronger than before.
"We are doing remarkably well," said the husband, breaking the silence
for the first time in a half hour.
"Yes," was the thoughtful reply; "we must have travelled a good many
miles since the last start, and there is only one danger that troubles
me."
"What is that?"
"The probability--nay, the almost certainty--that we are not journeying
toward the fort."
"I have thought much of that," replied the husband, giving voice to a
misgiving that had disturbed him more than he was willing to admit; "it
is as you say, that the chances are against our proceeding in a direct
line, but it is equally true that the general course is right."
"How can you know that?"
"Because we have crossed two streams that were in our path, and they
remain behind us."
"But," reminded the thoughtful wife, "you forget that those same streams
are very winding in their course. If they followed a direct line, we
could ask no more proof that we are on the right track."
"True, but it cannot be that they take such a course that we are
travelling toward the ranch again."
"Hardly as bad as that, but if we are riding at right angles in either
direction, we shall be in a sad plight when the morning comes. The sun
will take from us all chance of dodging the Sioux so narrowly as we have
done more than once since leaving home."
"We must not forget the peril of which you speak; at such times I trust
much to the instinct of the animals."
"And would not that, in the present case, lead them to go toward rather
than from home?"
"I'm blessed if I thought of that!"
The rancher was filled with dismay for the moment, and brought Dick down
to a walk.
"No," he added the next moment, striking him into a gallop again, "if
they were left to themselves they would try to make their way to the
ranch, but they have been under too much guidance, and have been forced
to do too many disagreeable things, for them to attempt that. I am sure
we are nearing Fort Meade."
"I trust so," was the response of the wife; which remark did anything
but add to the hopefulness of her husband.
The animals now began to show signs of fatigue. The snow balled under
their hoofs, causing a peculiar jolting to the riders, when it became so
big that the weight broke it or made their feet slip off, when new
gatherings commenced immediately to form.
After being forced to a canter the horses would drop of their own accord
to a walk, and soon they were left to continue at their own gait.
"How far, Molly, do you think we have come?" asked the rancher.
"It must be fifteen miles, and possibly more; if it were in a direct
line, adding what we made before crossing the last stream, it would be
safe to wait until morning."
Again the wife gave expression to the thought that was in her husband's
mind. He had been asking himself for the last half hour whether it would
not be wise to come to a halt for daylight. The rest thus secured to the
animals would enable them to do much better, when the right course could
be determined with absolute certainty, and a few hours' brisk riding
ought to take them beyond all fear of their harassing enemies.
There remained the haunting fear of their being on the wrong course. If
daylight found them little nearer the fort than when at the ranch, their
situation would be most critical. But all speculation on that important
matter must remain such until the truth could be learned.
One reason why the rancher did not propose a halt before it was hinted
at by his wife, was that no suitable place presented itself. It would
not do to camp in the open plain, where there was no shelter for them or
their animals; they must keep on until the ground changed.
That change came sooner than they anticipated. The ponies were plodding
forward with their loads, when, before either of the riders suspected
it, they were on the edge of another growth of timber, which promised
the very thing they sought.
"Here we are!" said Mr. Starr, "and I think we can say that the journey
will be suspended until daylight."
"If there is another stream, George, I shall feel safer if we place
ourselves on the other side before we halt for the rest of the night."
"I don't view another fording with much pleasure, but we can soon find
out how it is."
The character of this timber differed from that which they had already
passed, in that it abounded with so many bowlders and rocks that, after
penetrating it a short way, it became too dangerous for the ponies to
persevere. They were liable at any moment to break a limb.
"Remain here a few minutes while I investigate," said the rancher,
passing the sleeping Dot to his wife.
He penetrated more than a hundred yards, without coming upon any water.
He did not go farther, for he was satisfied there was none near them.
The ground not only grew more rocky and precipitous as he advanced, but
steadily rose, so as to show that he was at the base of a ridge over
which it was a difficult matter to make their way. It would have been
folly to try it in the darkness, and on his return he sought some spot
favorable for going into camp.
He was more successful than he expected. A mass of rocks was found,
whose tops projected sufficiently to afford a fair shelter. The snow,
slanting from the other direction, left a comparatively large surface
bare. Here the ponies were drawn to one side and their trappings
removed. There were not enough spare blankets to cover them as the
fugitives wished to do, but they were too tough to suffer much.
Then the blankets were distributed, and so placed that when the husband
and wife huddled together against the base of the rocks, they, as well
as Dot, were quite comfortable. The rancher might have gathered wood and
started a fire, but it was not needed, and they feared the consequences
of such a proceeding. They were so worn out with the trials and toil of
the night, that they soon sank into a deep slumber which lasted till
morning. Then, upon awaking, the first act of the rancher was to
ascertain his bearings, so far as it was possible to do so.
The result was the disheartening conviction that they were no nearer
Fort Meade than when they forded the last stream early on the preceding
night.