A tall figure stepped away from the peaked rocks and paused at Bud's side.
“I been waiting for Marian,” he said bluntly. “You know anything about her?”
“She turned back last night after she had shown me the way.” Bud's throat went dry. “Did they miss her?” He leaned aggressively.
“Not till breakfast time, they didn't. I was waiting here, most all night—except right after you folks left. She wasn't missed, and I never flagged her—and she ain't showed up yet!”
Bud sat there stunned, trying to think what might have happened. Those dark passages through the mountains—the ledge— “Ed, you know that trail she took me over? She was coming back that way. She could get lost—”
“No she couldn't—not Sis. If her horse didn't act the fool—what horse was it she rode?” Ed turned to Jerry as if he would know.
“Boise,” Bud spoke quickly, as though seconds were precious. “She said he knew the way.”
“He sure ought to,” Eddie replied emphatically. “Boise belongs to Sis, by rights. The mare got killed and Dad gave him to Sis when he was a suckin' colt, and Sis raised him on cow's milk and broke him herself. She rode him all over. Lew took and sold him to Dave, and gambled the money, and Sis never signed no bill of sale. They couldn't make her. Sis has got spunk, once you stir her up. She'll tackle anything. She's always claimed Boise is hers. Boise knows the Gap like a book. Sis couldn't get off the trail if she rode him.”
“Something happened, then,” Bud muttered stubbornly. “Four men came through behind us, and we waited out in the dark to let them pass. Then she sent me down to the creek-bottom, and she turned back. If they got her—” He turned Sunfish in the narrow brush trail. “She's hurt, or they got her—I'm going back!” he said grimly.
“Hell! you can't do any good alone,” Eddie protested, coming after him. “We'll go look for her, Mr. Birnie, but we've got to have something so we can see. If Jerry could dig up a couple of lanterns—”