"I saw the face clearly," continued Phil. "It was changed, wonderfully changed in expression, but I knew it. I could not be mistaken. It was that Comanche, called Black Panther, whom we saw in New Orleans. He was dirty and degraded there, but he did not seem so last night." "I am glad that you told this, Phil," said Middleton. "It was a lucky chance that awakened you and sent you to the spring." "Once I thought I would not speak of it at all," said the boy. "I was afraid they would say it was only a dream or a creation of my fancy." "I’m sure that you really saw it," said Middleton, "and I will speak with Mr. Woodfall. The time has come when we must be cautious." The camp was now wholly awake, and the men began to light the fires anew, and take their breakfasts. Middleton talked with Mr. Woodfall, and, as the latter kept it no secret, the news soon spread throughout the train. Philip Bedford, prowling about in the dark, had seen an Indian in the woods near by, an Indian who seemed to be watching them. The news was variously received, because there were many kinds of men in this train. Some took it seriously; others were disposed to laugh, and to hint, as Phil had feared, that it was fancy or a dream; and others cared nothing about it. What was a single wandering warrior to them? But the leader compelled a more careful advance. Scouts were sent ahead, and others rode on the flanks. Phil and his comrades shared in this duty, and that very day he and Bill Breakstone and Arenberg were among those who rode ahead. It was not an easy duty, because they were now in thick forest, with much swampy ground about. Dark funereal cypresses abounded in the marshy soil, and gloomy moss hung from the live oaks. A deer sprang up, and Phil pulled down his rifle, but Breakstone would not let him shoot. "Not now, Phil," he said. "We must not shoot at chance game when we are scouting. My talk may not sound like it, but I know something of wilderness life. One can never be too cautious, whether on the plains or in the woods. Things may happen. Wait for them. As the poet saith, ’One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a world without a name.’" "Say that again," said Arenberg. "One crowded hour of glorious life is worth a world without a name." "It sounds good. It iss good. I will remember it," said the German.