By midafternoon they found themselves approaching the snow-choked defile that led out through the lower valley, and the corporal sighted the landmarks that located the colonel's buried store of supplies. The cache had not been disturbed since Dexter's recent visit, and there was no evidence to show that any other person had set foot in that part of the valley. Devreaux either must have fallen somewhere by the wayside, or else, for some reason unguessed, he had wandered off another direction, to lose himself in the deeper wilderness.
The corporal was too tired to seek farther that afternoon so he contented himself with rifling the provision bags and cooking the first square meal he had eaten in days. The wayfarers passed the night on a dry ledge of rock, warm and comfortably fed, sleeping like three weary children.
But by daylight Dexter was on the move again, continuing his hunt for the missing police officer. For nearly a week he kept up his fruitless searching; ranging through miles of the dense wilderness, penetrating the tangled depths of gulch and ravine, scrambling across steep mountain slopes and climbing onward to the higher ridges, whence he could scan the desolate stretches of country below him. And wherever he went, Archie and Alison were always forced to go with him.
Days passed, and day by day the sun marched north and poured warmth and brightness upon a reawakened world. Bare patches of earth began to appear where deep winter snows had lain; and then, almost over night, it seemed, the meadows and exposed hill slopes were carpeted with green. The claw marks of wandering grizzlies were sometimes found, scuffling beside deep pools, where cut-throat trout were leaping; and sheep and goats showed themselves once more, posing against the blue sky on far, dizzy pinnacles of the mountains. Along the brooksides the willows and alders were tipped with bursting life, and the ice had broken out at last and rode downstream with the brawling waters. Dexter realized that within a few more days the mountain passes would be accessible to travel.
What had become of the colonel, he could not imagine. Perhaps the old man had fallen somewhere along the route; perhaps he was still alive, hidden in some wilderness fastness, waiting until he was strong enough to take the trail again. Dead or alive, however, he had already issued his command; and the law of the mounted permits no deviation from the stern line of duty, even for the sake of a comrade. It might take months to find a lost man in that vast, trackless forest. Meanwhile a grim and urgent business awaited, and it was time to act. So one morning Dexter abandoned his futile search, and turned his face resolutely to the northward.
Alison and her brother had tramped the forests with him for days. The girl had given him her promise not to escape, and he somehow had the feeling that she would keep her word. But he knew by the furtive, restless look in the boy's eyes that he would make a break for liberty the first chance he was given. So Dexter always kept Archie close beside him, never for an instant relaxing his vigilance. He did not tell his companions of his intentions, but when he left off his wandering and turned abruptly on a straight line north, no doubt they guessed that he was once more following the outlaws' trail.
He had crossed over the ridge into the eastern part of the valley, and made his way up the brook where Constable Graves had met death. If he hoped to get in touch with Stark's crowd, he knew he must find the upper pass without delay, so he forced as fast a pace as he could. He was confident that men from Fort Dauntless would soon put in an appearance, and he kept a pocket ax in hand, blazing his path behind him, leaving marks that any policeman would read and follow.
They reached the spruce forest of tragic memory, and the corporal made a detour that brought him past the burned cabin. There remained only an ugly, blackened heap of debris to tell where the structure had stood, and an inspection of the clearing convinced Dexter that no one had set foot there since his own departure on the morning after the double murder. There was a haunted look in Alison's eyes as she stared at the sodden pile of wreckage, and she gasped in audible relief when he finally beckoned her to come away.
The next noonday was spent at Stark's cabin, ten miles farther upstream, where Alison and her brother had lived during the winter months. There were no fresh trails in the neighborhood, and Dexter lingered only for a short rest, and then resumed his journey.
His route beyond this point carried him into an unfamiliar country—a country that grew wilder and more forbidding with every mile he advanced. Somewhere beyond, he knew, there must be an opening through the walls of the mountains. His problem was to find it; but as he pushed onward into the northern reaches of the long valley he began to appreciate the enormous difficulties he faced.