But now he lost it altogether. A strip of flinty ground led from the baranca clear to the timber’s edge. At the edge of this strip, all traces ended.
One glance decided this, and then Campbell skirted the further side, until at the underbrush. He saw that a horse could not have forced a passage into the timber without leaving unmistakable traces of so doing. A grim smile lighted up his countenance. He knew now that the baranca contained his quarry.
“So much settled,” he muttered, triumphantly. “I don’t think the time is lost, for now I will have only one side to watch. Come, Miss, madam, whichever you may be. I think you will find it harder to pull the wool over my eyes now than last week. It’s you and I for it now, and the smartest brain wins.”
Signing for his horse to follow him, Campbell looked to his rifle, and glided toward the edge of the baranca. He paused upon the edge, and while closely scrutinizing much of its bottom as possible from his position, he meditated deeply.
“It’s plain,” he muttered, finally, “she took the piebald with her, else I must have seen its tracks. There are places where a horse can be concealed down there, but not many. Now shall I go down and hunt her out? No—were it only for myself, I would, and take the chances of her picking me off with that rifle of hers. But then! Fred. I won’t lose the game now by carelessness or foolishness. She must come out some time. I can stand it as long as she can. But first, for a good stand. Ha! I have it—the pile of rocks. She must be this side of that, for a goat could scarcely clamber over it. That will do. Then I’ll only have one way to look.”
Ned only hesitated for a moment, then narrowly examined the side of the baranca. As another proof that his suspicions were well founded, he soon discovered a path, narrow and steep, yet amply wide enough to permit a sure-footed horse to ascend or descend without much difficulty, leading down to the bottom of the ravine. His keen eye could detect the signs of hoofs having pressed its surface, though how recently could only be surmised.
“It leads in the right direction, too—that is, toward the pile of rocks. Somewhere near that I believe lies the secret. If so, the game’s mine.”
The young hunter had decided upon his course. Craft and cunning must be his aid now. The stakes played for were far too important to be lost by a rash or premature move.
Motioning his horse to remain stationary, Ned hastened to the timber and soon secured several small leafy branches, and a handful of dried grass. Holding these, he glided cautiously along the escarpment, his eyes closely scanning every foot of the bottom.
He neared the rocky barricade without discovering any thing that could possibly afford concealment for a horse, and then crouching down, he narrowly examined the pile. It will be remembered that he, in company with the other young hunters, had searched the opposite side of the barricade, on the night Fred Hawksley disappeared.