"Da-a-a-g-gone it!"
"What's the matter?"
"Nothing."
But Fairchild was n't telling the truth. They had reached the light just at the wrong, wrong moment. Out of the skip he lifted her, then inquired the way to the sheriff's office of this, a new county. The direction was given, and they went there. They told their story. The big-shouldered, heavily mustached man at the desk grinned cheerily.
"That there's the best news I 've heard in forty moons," he announced. "I always did hate that fellow. You say Bardwell and your partner went out on the Ohadi road to head the young 'un off?"
"Yes. They had about a fifteen-minute start on us. Do you think—?"
"We 'll wait here. They 're hefty and strong. They can handle him alone."
But an hour passed without word from the two Searchers. Two more went by. The sheriff rose from his chair, stamped about the room, and looked out at the night, a driving, aimless thing in the clutch of a blizzard.
"Hope they ain't lost," came at last.
"Had n't we better—?"