He did not altogether like or trust the man; he could not blot from memory the cowardly shot which had killed Wasson, nor entirely rid himself of a fear that he, himself, had failed an old comrade, in not revenging his death; yet one thing was clear--the man's hatred for Le Fevre made him valuable.
Treacherous as he might be by nature, now his whole soul was bent on revenge.

Moreover he knew the lay of the land, the trail the fugitives would follow, and to some extent Black Kettle's camp.

Little by little Hamlin drew from him every detail of Le Fevre's life in the cattle country, becoming more and more convinced that both men were thieves, their herds largely stolen through connivance with Indians.
Undoubtedly Le Fevre was the bigger rascal of the two, and possessed greater influence because of his marriage into the tribe.
It was the second midnight when the wind died down.

Hamlin, sleeping fitfully, seemed to sense the change; he rose, forced the door open, and peered out eagerly.

There was lightness to the sky, and all about, the unbroken expanse of snow sparkled in cold crystals.