"But footin' it nights, and layin' by days, fur over a hundred miles, through Injun country, is slow work, and we didn't, most on us, expect much; and our hearts follered the little black spots, showin' us our two companions a creepin' off into darkness, like a couple of wolves. It took good men, too, from our little party, and fur awhile I was faint-hearted. In our shipwreck, it seemed like takin' bottles which might ha' helped to hold out, and flingin' 'em into ther waves, with messages tellin' how and whar we went down. "About two o'clock Lieut. Beecher died, havin' for some time begged the men to end his sufferin's by shootin' of him. "We all kept perfect quiet that night--no fire, nor wur ther a sound heard, from our little island, by the heathen on the bluffs. An just that quietness gave 'em the worst foolin' they ever had. It seems the road down river had been left open by 'em, hopin' we would steal out and run for it durin' the night. We bein' all on foot, they could overtake us in the mornin', and worry on us out easy. Durin' the dark we waited quiet, and watched, and passed water to our wounded, and sprinkled it over some of 'em who couldn't drink. "It wer just kinder palin' like way up in the sky, and we could see that off down East, somewhar, ther mornin' was commencin' ter climb, when Jim nudged me, and says, 'Chum, what's that?' We both stuck our ears right up, like two jackass-rabbits, and listened. It wur all dark near the ground, but we could hear a steady, gallopin' sound, comin' in toward us from up the ravines, and over the hills. It wur like a beatin' of ther earth with flails by threshers you couldn't see. "The sound came a creepin' along the sod so quick we soon knew it wur the Injuns, on ther ponies, comin' down ter pick up the trail. And now we could see 'em a bobbin' along toward us in ther gloom, the rows er ugly heads goin' up and down, like jumpin'-jacks. It just seemed as ther side er ther night had been painted all full o' gapin' red devils, and ther sun wur jest revealin' on 'em. 'Lay still!' wer the word, and each man hugged his sand bank, just a skinnin' one eye, like a lizard over a log. They 'd no idee we were thar, not bein' able to understand the grit of that little forty, and they cum gallopin' along, careless-like, happy as so many ghosts goin' ter a fun'ral. But it warn't _our_ fun'ral just then. When they 'd got so close we could smell 'em, colonel guv the word ter fire, and we let 'em have it. Stranger, you ain't no idee what a gettin' up bluffs, and general absentin' of 'emselves ther wur. Arter the fust crack, yer couldn't see an Injun at all, but jest a lot er ponies, diggin' it on ther back track, and you knowed painted cusses wer glued ter ther opposite side on 'em.