It was noon on the day after Wandle’s flight, and Jernyngham was sitting with his friends in a room of the Leslie homestead when Muriel, looking out of the window, saw Prescott’s hired man ride up at a gallop. His haste and his anxious expression when he dismounted alarmed her, but her companions had not noticed him, and she waited, listening to the murmur of voices that presently reached her from an adjoining room. They ceased in a few minutes, she saw the man ride away as fast as he had come, and soon afterward Leslie opened the door. He was a talkative person and looked as if he had something of importance to relate.

“Svendsen has been over to ask if I saw Prescott when I was in at the settlement yesterday,” he said. “When I told him that I hadn’t, he seemed mighty disturbed.”

Muriel’s heart throbbed painfully, but she waited for one of the others to speak, and Jernyngham, laying down his paper, glanced up sharply.

“Why?” he asked.

This was all the encouragement Leslie needed.

“I’ll tell you, so far as I’ve got the hang of the thing; I thought you’d like to know. It seems Prescott has been away somewhere for a few days and should have got home last night. He came in on the train in the evening, and Harper drove him out and dropped him 297 at Wandle’s trail; Prescott said he wanted to see the man. Well, he didn’t get home, and Svendsen, who’d been to Harper’s this morning, found Wandle gone and three of his horses missing. Then he found out from Watson, who stayed at the hotel last night, that Curtis rode in on a played-out horse before it was light, and kept the night operator busy for a while with the wires. Seems to me the thing has a curious look.”

For a moment or two nobody spoke. Muriel felt dismayed by the news, and she glanced at the others, trying to read their thoughts. Colston looked troubled, Gertrude’s face was hard and stamped with a kind of cruel satisfaction, Jernyngham was very grim.

“Is that all you know about the matter?” Jernyngham asked.

“I guess so,” Leslie answered. “Still, Svendsen did allow he thought he’d seen Stanton hanging about the homestead yesterday evening.”

“Thank you,” said Jernyngham with cold politeness. “I’ll want the team after dinner.”

Seeing no excuse for remaining, the rancher went out, and Jernyngham turned to the others. His brows were knitted and his eyes gleamed ominously.

“There’s no mystery about the matter; the man has gone for good,” he said. “In spite of the assurances they gave me, these fools of police have let him slip through their fingers. That he saw Wandle before he bolted proves collusion between them. It was a thing I half suspected, but Curtis, of course, did not agree with me.”

Muriel was recovering from the shock. Though things looked very bad, she could not believe that Prescott had run away. He had promised to call on Curtis and her confidence in him was unshaken. 298

“He went away by train a day or two ago, and if he had had anything to fear, he would have made his escape then,” she said.

Mrs. Colston cast a warning glance at her, as if begging her to say nothing more, but Jernyngham curtly answered her remark.

“The man probably wanted to sell his property where it would excite less notice than at Sebastian. Then I suppose he found it needful to see his confederate.”

“They could have gone off together in the first instance,” Colston objected.

Jernyngham made an impatient gesture.

“I was merely suggesting an explanation; the point is not important. The fellow has bolted; but I’ve reason for believing he won’t get across the boundary!”

He broke off, tearing the newspaper as he opened it, and there was an awkward silence until Mrs. Leslie brought in dinner. Jernyngham ate very little, and after spending a few minutes in his room, he drove off in the sleigh. Somewhat later, Colston met Gertrude in a passage and stopped her. He thought she looked anxious.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t calm your father, but I was afraid that anything I might say would only make him more excited,” he told her. “I meant to go with him, but he wouldn’t permit it.”

“No,” she said, “there was nothing that you could do; but I’m badly disturbed.” She paused irresolutely, and then resumed: “He has taken a magazine pistol, though I believe it’s the first time he has carried it.”

Colston looked grave. He determined, if possible, to abstract the pistol and hide it on Jernyngham’s return.

“I’m very sorry. It must be trying for you. Indeed, I wonder anxiously where all this is leading us.” 299

“The horrible mystery will be cleared up on Prescott’s arrest,” Gertrude said in a harsh voice. “I think that can’t be long deferred.”

She left him troubled by her expression, and he and the others spent a dreary afternoon and evening. It was late when Jernyngham returned, looking worn but very stern.

“From what I’ve learned, word has been sent to every police trooper between here and the frontier,” he said, and broke into a grim smile. “Prescott’s chance of escape is a very poor one.”

He made a scanty meal, without seeming to notice what he ate, and afterward sat silent. The others seldom spoke and when a word was exchanged there was strain in their voices. The snapping of the poplar billets in the stove seemed to emphasize the quiet and jarred on their nerves, while Muriel, tormented by fears on Prescott’s account, found the suspense and constraint almost intolerable. She was thankful when bedtime came, though she could not sleep. Her troubled thoughts were with her lover, and she wondered what perils he was exposed to on the snowy wilds.

As it happened, Prescott was riding steadily through the stinging frost. He had been unable to obtain a fresh horse, but he had borrowed a saddle, and the Clydesdale, though far from fast, possessed good staying powers. For all that, he had been forced to rest part of the day at an outlying farm, and while there a man brought him word from Stanton, whose line of travel ran roughly parallel with his, three or four leagues to the west. The trooper’s horse had gone badly lame, and Prescott was instructed to push on while Stanton sought another mount.

It was a very bitter night, but the young rancher was used to cold, and, riding alone in the moonlight, he made 300 the best pace he could across the white desolation. There was no sign of life on it. Nothing moved in the reeds beside the frozen ponds and the shadowy bluffs he passed; no sound but the thud of heavy hoofs broke the overwhelming silence. By and by he left the trees behind, and pressed on into a vast glittering plain which ran back to the horizon, unbroken by a bush, and inexpressibly lonely.

In the early morning he reached a homestead where he rested until the afternoon. He chafed at the delay, but as the Clydesdale was badly jaded, it could not be avoided, and Wandle would have to stop now and then, unless he could hire fresh horses, which might be difficult. Starting again, he came to a small wooden settlement in the evening and rode first to the livery-stable. The telephone wires, which were being stretched across the prairie, had not reached the place, and he surmised that the police had been unable to communicate with it. The liveryman was busy in one of the stalls, but he came out and answered Prescott’s question.

“Yes,” he said, “a fellow like the one you speak of came in here about an hour ago. His team looked pretty used up and he wanted to hire another, but I couldn’t deal. Keep my horses hauling cordwood through the winter, and the only team I have in the stable is ordered by a drummer for to-morrow.”

“Can’t you find me a mount? I’ll pay you what you like.”

“No, sir,” said the other. “When I engage to drive a man round, I’ve got to make good. If I didn’t, it would soon ruin my trade.”

Seeing he was not to be moved, Prescott asked:

“How do you strike the south trail?” 301

“Go straight through the town. It forks in about three miles, and you can............