He repeated it with every heart-beat until he fell in with some friendly red men, who took him to their camp, where to his great surprise he met M.
Roussillon.

It was his song when again he strode off toward the west on his lonely way.
We need not follow him step by step; the monotony of the woods and prairies, the cold rains, alternating with northerly winds and blinding snow, the constant watchfulness necessary to guard against a meeting with hostile savages, the tiresome tramping, wading and swimming, the hunger, the broken and wretched sleep in frozen and scant wraps,--why detail it all?
There was but one beautiful thing about it--the beauty of Alice as she seemed to walk beside him and hover near him in his dreams.

He did not know that Long-Hair and his band were fast on his track; but the knowledge could not have urged him to greater haste.

He strained every muscle to its utmost, kept every nerve to the highest tension.

Yonder towards the west was help for Alice; that was all he cared for.
But if Long-Hair was pursuing him with relentless greed for the reward offered by Hamilton, there were friendly footsteps still nearer behind him; and one day at high noon, while he was bending over a little fire, broiling some liberal cuts of venison, a finger tapped him on the shoulder.