They reasoned she had stopped here to feed and water her pony, and had
probably bathed her face and flung loose her hair and forgotten later
the binding ribbon. They believed she had followed on after Stout's
hard-marching company. It was easy to trail. They counted on finding
her when they found her father, and now here lay Wren unconscious of
her loss, and Blakely, realizing it all--cruelly, feverishly realizing
it--yet so weakened by his wounds as to be almost powerless to march
or mount and go in search of her.
No question now as to the duty immediately before them. In twenty
minutes the pack mules were again strapped between the saplings, the
little command was slowly climbing toward the westward heights, with
Arnold and two of his friends scouting the rough trail and hillsides,
firing at long intervals and listening in suspense almost intolerable
for some answering signal. The other of their number had volunteered
to follow Stout over the plateau toward the Pass and acquaint him with
the latest news.
While the sun was still high in the heavens, far to the northward,
they faintly heard or thought they heard two rifle shots. At four
o'clock, as they toiled through a tangle of rock and stunted pine,
Arnold, riding well to the front, came suddenly out upon a bare ledge
from which he could look over a wild, wide sweep of mountain side,
stretching leagues to north and south, and there his keen and
practiced eye was greeted by a sight that thrilled him with dread
unspeakable.
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