She belonged rather to Hawley's class than his.
It was a lonely, tiresome ride, during which Neb made various efforts to talk, but finding his white companion uncommunicative, at last relapsed into rather sullen silence.

The horses plodded on steadily, and when daylight finally dawned, the two men found themselves in a depression leading down to the Smoky River.

Here they came to a water hole, where they could safely hide themselves and their stock.

With both Indians and white men to be guarded against, they took all the necessary precautions, picketing the horses closely under the rock shadows, and not venturing upon building any fire.

Neb threw himself on the turf and was instantly asleep, but Keith climbed the steep side of the gully, and made searching survey of the horizon.