ill forcing his
appetite. Then he carefully put out the fire and went a mile further up
the creek. He felt stronger, but he knew that he was not yet in any
condition for a long journey. He was most intent now upon guarding
against a return of the chill. It was not the right time for one to be
ill. Again he sought a place in a thicket, like an animal going to its
den, and, wrapping himself tightly in the blankets, lay down.

He watched with anxiety for the first shiver of the dreaded chill. Once
or twice imagination made him feel sure that it had come, but it always
passed quickly. His body remained warm, and, while he was still watching
for the chill, he fell asleep, and slept soundly all through the night.

The break of day aroused him. He felt strong and well, and he was in a
pleasant glow, because he knew now that the chill would not come. It had
been due to overtaxed nerves, and there was no malaria in his system.

He hunted again among the big trees until he found a squirrel on one of
the high boughs. He fired at it and missed. He found another soon and
killed it at the first shot. But the miss had been a grave matter. He
had only four bullets left. He took them out and looked at them, little
shining pellets of lead. His life depended upon these four, and he must
not miss again.

It took him an hour to start his fire, and he ate only half of the
squirrel, putting the remainder into his bullet pouch for future needs.
Then, much invigorated, he resumed his vague journey. But he was
compelled very soon to go slowly and with the utmost caution. There were
even times when he had to stop and hide. Mexican cavalry appeared upon
the prairies, first in small groups and then in a detachment of about
three hundred. Their course and Ned's was the same, and he knew then
that he was going in the right direction. Fannin was surely somewhere
ahead.

But it was most troublesome traveling for Ned. If they saw him they
could easily ride him down, and what chance would he have with only four
bullets in his pouch? Or rather, what chance would he have if the pouch
contained a hundred?

The only thing that favored him was the creek which ran in the way that
he wanted to go. He kept in the timber that lined its banks, and, so
long as he had this refuge, he felt comparatively safe, since the
Mexicans, obviously, were not looking for him. Yet they often came
perilously near. Once, a large band rode down to the creek to water
their ho