Head-quarters were only five miles off. I
rode fast at first. It is strange there are no campfires in sight."
Time is measured by sensation, and with me minutes were drawn out into
hours. "Surely, it is midnight. I have been here three hours at the
least. The road must have forked, and I have gone the wrong way. The
most sagacious of horses could not be expected to know which of two
roads to take. There is nothing to be done. I am in for the night, and
had better stay here than go farther in the wrong direction."
I dismount, fill my pipe, and strike a light. I laugh at my
thoughtlessness, and another match is lighted to look at my watch, which
tells me I have been on the road precisely twenty minutes. I mount.
Spitfire seems quite composed, perhaps a little astonished at the
unusual conduct of his rider, but he walks on composedly, carefully
avoiding the rolling stones.
It is not a pleasant situation,--on a prairie alone and at night, not
knowing where you are going or where you ought to go. Zimmermann himself
never imagined a solitude more complete, albeit such a situation is not
so favorable to philosophic meditation as the rapt Zimmermann might
suppose. I employ my thoughts as well as I am able, and pin my faith to
the sagacity of Spitfire. Presently a light gleams in front of me. It
is only a flickering, uncertain ray; perhaps some belated teamster
is urging his reluctant mules to camp and has lighted his lantern.
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