“I’ll not put any of them on your trail,” replied the boy. “I may be obliged to say something about you; but if you have good luck, you ought to be safe across the river before I reach Mr. Gilbert’s house, and that is where I am going.” After bringing Springer another hatful of water from the bayou, and dividing with him the small supply of bacon and crackers he had left, George brought up his horse, and with infinite difficulty assisted the man to mount. Springer groaned a little and swore a great deal during the operation, and being a heavy man and almost unable to help himself, it required the outlay of all George’s strength to put him into the saddle. After thanking the boy over and over again for what he had done, he rode slowly away, and George feeling as though there was nothing in the world worth living for now, once more turned his face toward the settlement. He looked back now and then to see how Springer was getting on. The last time he saw the man he was standing on the top of a high swell holding his hat in his hand. When he saw George looking at him he waved it in the air and rode down the swell out of sight. “If he can keep in his saddle for forty-eight hours—and he would have no trouble at all in doing it if it were not for his wounds—and can dodge the rangers who are probably out looking for the raiders, he will be all right,” thought George; “but if he is compelled to dismount, I don’t know what will become of him. He can’t possibly get on his horse again without help. Now, what shall I do? I am going back to a home where I am not wanted.” This was the burden of the boy’s thoughts all the rest of the day. He could not make up his mind to any course of action, for he was so stunned and bewildered by what he had heard that he could not think clearly. The only thing he determined upon was, that he would lay the case before Mr. Gilbert, and be governed by his advice. Mr. Gilbert was a wealthy cattle-raiser and a prominent man in the settlement, who had gained his start in life through the assistance of George’s father. He was a firm friend of the family, and the boy knew that he could trust him. Toward his rancho he directed his course, making all the haste he could. He would have been glad to travel all night, but his weary limbs demanded rest, and when it grew dark George was obliged, much against his will, to go into camp. He built a fire in the edge of a belt of post-oaks that ran across his path, and after gathering fuel enough to last all night, he ate a very light supper and sat down to think over the situation. When eight o’clock came he scraped a few leaves together for a bed, and was about to throw himself down upon it, when he was brought to his feet by the clatter of hoofs, which sounded a short distance away.