CHAPTER XXXI.
THE LAST HOPE.
The young ranchers had to go but a short distance, when they struck the trail left by their friends. The snow rendered it so distinct that the first glance told the story. Warren saw the track made by the feet of his father, mother, and little Dot. The consciousness that he was so near them profoundly affected the son.
"There are several strange things about this," he remarked to Tim, halting for a minute before taking up the search in earnest; "we found it almost impossible for a horse to clamber up the ridge, and yet their two ponies have been to the very crest."
"That's because they found an easy way to do it from the ither side," was the sensible comment of Tim Brophy.
"Of course, but father is away off the track. More than half a day has passed since he left home, and he is hardly a quarter of the way to Fort Meade."
"He is just as near as we are, and he didn't start any sooner," was the significant remark of Tim Brophy.
"But that was his destination when he set out, while our business has been to find him."
"With no moon or stars to guide him last night, what means had he of keeping to the right coorse?"
The question gave its own answer. The cause of this wandering was so self-evident that Warren Starr would not have asked it had he not been in such a state of mental agitation as a person feels when certain he is on the eve of some critical event.