Fifty whips cracked like so many rifle shots. The wagons creaked and moved forward again, and by their side rode the armed horsemen. They descended the slope, rose to the crest of the next swell, where the Comanche horseman had stood, and then passed on, over wave after wave into the unbroken gray-green expanse of the West. There was nothing before them but the plains, with a bunch of buffalo grazing far off to the right, and a herd of antelope grazing far off to the left. The ominous spell that the Indian had cast seemed to have vanished with him so far as the great majority of the men were concerned. But Phil and his immediate comrades did not forget. "The words of that Indian, as you have delivered them to me, linger in my mind, young Sir Philip of the Plains," said Bill Breakstone, "but I am glad he took the trouble to give us a warning. A stitch in time may save the lives of nine good men. "Give me the word That harm you mean, Then my good sword I take, I ween. "At least that poem is short and to the point, Sir Philip. And now I think me that to-morrow about the noon hour, if we should maintain our present pace, we cross a river known variously to the different Indian tribes, but muddy, deep, and flowing between high banks. The crossing will be difficult, and I ought to tell Woodfall about it." "By all means," said Middleton, "and I can tell you, Breakstone, that I already wish we were safely on the other side of that river." They camped that night in the open plain. There was a good moonlight, but the watch was doubled, the most experienced frontiersmen being posted as sentinels. Yet the watchers saw nothing. They continuously made wide circles about the camp, but the footprint of neither man nor horse was to be seen. The day dawned, cold and gray with lowering skies, and, before the obscure sun was an hour above the plain, the train resumed its march, Woodfall, Middleton, Breakstone, Phil, and Arenberg riding in a little group at the head. "How far on do you say is this river?" asked Woodfall. "We should strike it about noon," replied Breakstone, repeating his statement of the day before. "It is narrow and deep, and everywhere that I have seen it the banks are high, but we ought to find somewhere a slope for a crossing." "Is it wooded?" asked Middleton. "Yes, there are cottonwoods, scrub oaks, bushes, and tall grass along either bank." "I’m sorry for that," said Woodfall. Phil knew perfectly well what they meant, but he kept, silent, although his heart began to throb. The other three also fell silent, and under the gray, lowering sky the spirits of the train seemed to sink. The men ceased to joke with one another, and no songs were sung. Phil heard only the tread of the horses and the creak of the wagons. An hour or two later they saw a dim black line cutting across the plain. "The trees along the banks of the river," said Bill Breakstone.