But Dick remembered his mission, and his resolve to perform it was not
shaken a particle. He had lost his horse, but he could walk. Perhaps
his chance of success would be greater on foot in such a dangerous
country.

He advanced now with extreme caution, feeling the way carefully and
testing the ground before he put his foot down solidly. Still trusting
to his ears he stopped now and then, and listened for some sound from his
enemy in pursuit. But nothing came, and soon he became quite sure that
he had shaken him off. He was merely a dot in the wilderness in the dark,
and, feeling secure now, he pressed forward with more speed.

He was hoping to get to a piece of firm, high ground, where he might
secure a measure of protection from those terrible mosquitoes which still
buzzed angrily about his head. In an hour chance favored him, as he
reached a low ridge much rockier than usual in that region. He would
have built a little smudge fire to protect himself from the mosquitoes,
but it would be sure to draw the lurking sharpshooter, and instead he
found a nook in the ridge, under the low boughs of a great oak. Then he
took a light blanket which he carried tied to his saddlebags, and wrapped
it around his neck and face, covering everything but his mouth and eyes.

He sank into the nook with his back against the turf, and the reclining
position was wonderfully easy. The mosquitoes, apparently finding the
points of exposure too small, left him alone and went away. His face
still burned from numerous stings, but he forgot it in present comfort.
There was food in the saddlebags, and he ate enough for his needs.
Then he laid the saddlebags beside him and the rifle across his knees and
stared out into the darkness.