It was a hard night journey.  Occasionally as we toiled onward I could hear Elsie moan and sob, but Eloise gave utterance to no sound, except to reply cheerfully whenever I addressed her.  The exceeding roughness of the passage made our progress slow, and quite frequently we were all obliged to dismount, generally glad enough of the change, and plod forward for some distance on foot.  I possessed no knowledge then as to where we were, the map having deceived me so often I had long since lost all confidence in it as a guide, but now, in this later day, I can trace our progress with some degree of accuracy, and know that we passed that night in the valley of Bureau Creek, blindly groping our way forward toward a fate of which we little dreamed.

Nor did those weary hours of darkness bring to us the slightest warning, I do not recall feeling any special fear.  In the first place I was convinced that we must already be at the extreme limit of Black Hawk’s radius, and that, traveling as we were eastward, must before morning be well beyond any possible danger of falling into the hands of his warriors.  The other pursuers I had practically dismissed from thought.  Not for twenty-four hours had we perceived the slightest signs of Kirby’s presence in our rear, and my faith was strong that his party had either lost our trail, or been turned aside by fear of encountering Indians.  In this respect Kennedy remained more pessimistic than I, yet even in his mind confidence began to dawn that we had outstripped our enemies, both white and red, and that a few miles more must bring us in safety to some pioneer settlement.  The poor condition of our horses compelled us to rest frequently, and our own utter exhaustion led to our dropping asleep almost the moment we halted.  We were without food, and in no mood to converse.  Shortly after midnight my horse strained a tendon, and could no longer uphold my weight.  On foot, with the poor beast limping painfully behind me, I pressed on beside Eloise, both of us silent, too utterly wearied with the strain for any attempt at speech.

The early dawn found us plodding along close beside the creek, a fair sized stream, which meandered quietly through a beautiful valley protected on either side by high bluffs, rising to the plateau of prairie beyond.  The bluffs themselves were wooded, but the lower expanse was open, covered with luxuriant grass, and containing only an occasional tree, like some lone sentinel, diversifying the landscape with the darker coloring of its leaves.  It was a delightful scene, a bit of wilderness beauty undefiled, appearing so peaceful and perfect in its outer aspect as to cause even our tired, jaded eyes to open in eager appreciation.  I noticed Eloise straighten up in the saddle, her face brightening in the early light as she gazed enraptured at the varied shades of green decorating the near-by bluff, fading gradually into the delicate blue of the arching sky overhead.  The clear water of