s of a vast cloud-mass rolling up
threateningly from the west. Neither knew definitely where they were,
although Murphy guessed the narrow stream they had just forded might be
the upper waters of the Tongue. Their horses stood with heads hanging
wearily down, their sides rising and falling; and Hampton, rolling
stiffly from the saddle, hastily loosened his girth.

"They 'll drop under us if we don't give them an hour or two," he said,
quietly. "They 're both dead beat."

Murphy muttered something, incoherent and garnished with oaths, and the
moment he succeeded in releasing the buckle, sank down limp at the very
feet of his horse, rolling up into a queer ball. The other stared, and
took a step nearer.

"What's the matter? Are you sick, Murphy?"

"No--tired--don't want ter see--thet thing agin."

"What thing?"

"Thet green, devilish,--crawlin' face--if ye must know!" And he
twisted his long, ape-like arms across his eyes, lying curled up as a
dog might.

For a moment Hampton stood gazing down upon him, listening to his
incoherent mutterings, his own face grave and sympathetic. Then he
moved back and sat down. Suddenly the full conception of what this
meant came to his mind--_the man had gone mad_. The strained cords of
that diseased brain had snapped in the presence of imagined terrors,
and now all was chaos. The horror of it overwhelmed Hampton; not only
did this unexpected denouement leave him utterly hopeless, but what was
he to do with the fellow? How could he bring him forth from there
alive? If this stream was indeed the Tongue, then many a mile of rough
country, ragged with low mountains and criss-crossed by deep ravines,
yet stretched between where they now were and the Little Big Horn,
where they expected to find Custer's men. They were in the very heart
of the Indian country,--the country of the savage Sioux. He stared at
the curled-up man, now silent and breathing heavily as if asleep. The
silence was profound, the night so black and lonely that Hampton
involuntarily closed his heavy eyes to shut it out. If he only might
light a pipe, or boil himself a cup of black coffee! Murphy never
stirred; the horses were seemingly too weary to browse. Then Hampton
nodded, and sank into an uneasy doze.

CHAPTER V

ALONE WITH THE INSANE

Beneath the shade of uplifted arms Murphy's eyes remained unclosed.
Whatever terrors may have dominated that diseased brain, the one
purpose of reveng