But the soft mud was so deeply cut and scarred by different hoof-prints that he could not tell with certainty. Then the two men began closely scrutinizing the ground between the river and the timber.
For full half an hour they searched without success. It was evident that the horse had not crossed, and Paul was inclined to believe that the rider had been swept off into the deep water below, when, hampered by his wounded steed, his death would almost inevitably follow.
“Ha! look yonder!” cried Campbell, directing his companion’s attention over the river to a tall column of dense black smoke.
“It’s the boys—they’ve found somethin’ on the other trail. We’d better go back.”
As he uttered these words, the tall hunter suddenly paused, and bent his ear to the ground for a moment. Then rising he glided swiftly toward the arch-like opening between the two timber islands; reaching this he beckoned vehemently for Campbell to follow.
“Look yonder!” he hissed, grasping Ned’s arm with convulsive force, his other hand outstretched toward the open prairie.
“The woman—that strange rider—the one that decoyed Fred Hawksley from us!” gasped Campbell, in wonderment.
“It’s her—shure! Kin you take her? Your critter’s fresh. Ketch her an’ you kin tell whar Fred’s gone to.”
“I’ll do it or kill my horse. Stand aside, Ruel,” excitedly muttered Campbell.
“Easy—she’s comin’ closter. Look to your girth—see that it don’t fail ye now. Ef you cain’t do better, drop ’ither her or her critter. Ha! she has caught sight o’ you. Durn it! why didn’t we hide closter!”